I was accustomed to breathing in life and its many sweet fragrances, looking at it positively and filled with hope. It is made even better by the presence of my husband and my children growing up around me, carving the way for themselves through education and hard work in the rocky road of a long life.
And life remained like that, until the moment that changed everything…
The ghost of war crept into our humble village, and the downpour began.
It wasn’t the downpour of rain, good, or green; but bombs of death and destruction.
Unlike the rainy season, which comes and goes before we know it, this season remained to taunt us. It wouldn’t leave us, until eventually we decided to leave it. The war took my son away from me, I hope God receives him as a martyr.
So one morning we got into our car, we were dazed, not knowing if this nightmare would ever end. However what we faced was much worse!
A rocket! A rocket fell and exploded right next to us. Our car was completely damaged, left in a pile of steel with us mingled in the wreckage.
Oh how much that rocket cost me! My other son and my daughter…they died in my arms. As for me, I suffered a severe blow to my head, and even more, I was stunned from what I saw.
Since that incident I live in another world. Only days after I found myself somewhere new; someone had transported me to Jordan to receive treatment. But being in a safe place didn’t stop my losses, for after losing my three children, I lost my mind.
I was alone in refuge, until fate steered me in the direction of my old neighbors in Syria. Despite the fact that I no longer recognized them, they took me in and took care of me after I left the hospital. They didn’t leave me even though I was a potential source of danger to them and to their children, and a source of constant distraction to their lives. The house was constantly filled with my screams, delusions, and continuous demands. Despite all that, I stayed in their small apartment, a place that barely qualifies for people to live in. They worked hard to provide food for themselves and for me, along with my medication.
At times I would refuse to sleep, and after trying many methods they manage to slip a sleeping pill into my food or drink.
Sometimes I keep asking for my uncle who lives in another country. I ask about him over and over again. I fill the neighborhood with screams calling his name, but he cannot hear me, neither can he answer back.
Other times I insist on going outside to the street, maybe I can find a getaway from my pain, or company to my loneliness. Maybe I will find one of my children, or my husband that I know nothing about. Neither does he know, or even try to ask…
Every time they try and stop me, worrying that I will do something dangerous or get lost and not find my way back. But I’m lost in the tracks of time, I’m lost and I don’t appreciate anything that they do for me. To me, they are only taking away my comfort. Sometimes I curse them, others I hit them.
Despite all that, they are patient, they endure my behavior, and they never stop looking for ways to ease my pain. They call doctors, they provide me with medication, but it is getting harder. I need somewhere where I can get professional help, to house my body and cure my mental wounds.
Will anything save my neighbors? Before they lose themselves, their children, or their minds because of me.
Note: This was written on behalf of the patient to showcase her pain, she is unaware of her situation, doesn’t recognize anyone, and has lost her memory. The source of the story are her neighbors who are taking care of her.