Sonya Lea's Blog - Posts Tagged "sex"
Seattle Writer Shares New Memoir About Husband's Memory Loss
Consider the connective tissue holding a long-term marriage together: a web of understanding based on personal history—years of discussion, arguments, realizations, inside jokes, terms of endearment, intimate gestures, memories of private moments. Then think about a spouse suddenly losing all that backstory, and in the process, losing the personality that made you fall in love with him or her in the first place. Now you’re married to the same physical person, but the persona has been wiped clean, like a hard drive. Who is this new spouse in your bed? Are you still in love? And if your partner can’t weigh in on your shared past, what counts as the truth?
More at http://www.seattlemag.com/article/sea...
More at http://www.seattlemag.com/article/sea...
Chicago Tribune Review
I couldn't decide who I was while reading Sonya Lea's intense, unblinking marriage and identity memoir, "Wondering Who You Are." I was sympathetic and concerned, but also discomfited. I was privy to a couple's deepest intimacies — and not quite certain that I should be. I was carried forward by the linguistic ferocity of a self-proclaimed badass, but also by great empathy for the husband whose medical tragedy lies at the heart of this story and whose own thoughts and ideas have, as Lea admits, been primarily remembered and crafted for him. Richard, Lea's husband, is a "man who wants to agree with me," Lea tells us. A tragic brain injury makes it impossible to know if he truly does.
Lea was a wild-hearted young woman when she married Richard. Richard was physically graceful, intelligent, disciplined, hardworking — and, key to the couple's longevity, sexually adventurous. Their first child came soon. Struggles ensued — the sort of challenges brought on by deliberate rootlessness, reckless attempts at independence, Lea's own alcoholism and Richard's occasional violence toward their son.
Theirs was a craggy marriage, often rescued by good sex, but by the time Richard is facing surgery for a rare form of appendix cancer, the two are united by a time-tested love and an idea they have about their future.
The anoxic insult to Richard's brain in the aftermath of that surgery changes everything. Richard wakes to a world he doesn't remember. His cognition, his high-level reasoning, his executive function, his sense of self, his past, his manners — all of that has been damaged. He regards Lea, but seems to know little of their life together. He begins to speak, but language comes slowly. He is without affect. He calls Lea "sweetness." He prefers silence, has no agenda. Over and again, Lea describes her husband as a newborn, a baby, a toddler, a child. His condition is an affront. Who he is is not what she wants.
"The "you" in Richard has disappeared, and in its wake a mind appears in random flashes of gestures, words, expressions. … I'm unmoored by his apparent nothingness. He's a living embrace of impermanence, in dude form. But I don't want this bodyspace called husband, absent of ideas and longings and history. I want him to be as he was. I want to have what was once mine, even though I know he really didn't belong to me. But this man does not stay. He goes and goes and goes. Whatever has done this to us cares nothing for what I want."
Dogged, determined to please Lea, determined to return to his job as a physical therapist, determined to contribute, Richard willingly takes on myriad post-surgery rehab programs, homework sessions, tests, responsibilities. Lea does an admirable job of steering the ship — of advocating, of insisting, of demanding more. She reads, asks questions, thinks deeply about the brain and how it works, about identity and how it is formed, about our inability to ever capture or convey a pure, unadulterated memory. She writes smart and knowingly. The facts of their new life abrade her. She sets them down, without fear.
Beth Kephart is the author of 19 books, including "Handling the Truth: On the Writing of Memoir."
"Wondering Who You Are"
Article located at: http://www.chicagotribune.com/lifesty...#
Lea was a wild-hearted young woman when she married Richard. Richard was physically graceful, intelligent, disciplined, hardworking — and, key to the couple's longevity, sexually adventurous. Their first child came soon. Struggles ensued — the sort of challenges brought on by deliberate rootlessness, reckless attempts at independence, Lea's own alcoholism and Richard's occasional violence toward their son.
Theirs was a craggy marriage, often rescued by good sex, but by the time Richard is facing surgery for a rare form of appendix cancer, the two are united by a time-tested love and an idea they have about their future.
The anoxic insult to Richard's brain in the aftermath of that surgery changes everything. Richard wakes to a world he doesn't remember. His cognition, his high-level reasoning, his executive function, his sense of self, his past, his manners — all of that has been damaged. He regards Lea, but seems to know little of their life together. He begins to speak, but language comes slowly. He is without affect. He calls Lea "sweetness." He prefers silence, has no agenda. Over and again, Lea describes her husband as a newborn, a baby, a toddler, a child. His condition is an affront. Who he is is not what she wants.
"The "you" in Richard has disappeared, and in its wake a mind appears in random flashes of gestures, words, expressions. … I'm unmoored by his apparent nothingness. He's a living embrace of impermanence, in dude form. But I don't want this bodyspace called husband, absent of ideas and longings and history. I want him to be as he was. I want to have what was once mine, even though I know he really didn't belong to me. But this man does not stay. He goes and goes and goes. Whatever has done this to us cares nothing for what I want."
Dogged, determined to please Lea, determined to return to his job as a physical therapist, determined to contribute, Richard willingly takes on myriad post-surgery rehab programs, homework sessions, tests, responsibilities. Lea does an admirable job of steering the ship — of advocating, of insisting, of demanding more. She reads, asks questions, thinks deeply about the brain and how it works, about identity and how it is formed, about our inability to ever capture or convey a pure, unadulterated memory. She writes smart and knowingly. The facts of their new life abrade her. She sets them down, without fear.
Beth Kephart is the author of 19 books, including "Handling the Truth: On the Writing of Memoir."
"Wondering Who You Are"
Article located at: http://www.chicagotribune.com/lifesty...#
