I always have dreams during my dark hours. What am I trying to remember? When my dark hours end the light comes and pushes them away. Sometimes the memories are hazy; sometimes the memories are vivid, surreal events I awake from full of fear and anxiety. Although they are not the reality of the awake-world, they have one hell of an effect on the tales I tell and the ability to have my listeners believe them to be true. Often my stories are so realistic even I can not determine between truth and fiction. The dreams of my ...
It was June 11, 1978, in Somis, California, so I’ve been told. Because you see I have no memory of what happened that day.
I know that I had just gotten back from Arizona where I became the godparent to my young nephew. I had brought my mother back with me, and for Mother’s Day I had taken her to Solvang for the day. I also remember taking her to the Burbank Airport for her to go home. I remember all that very clearly, but the actual day of the accident, I remember nothing.
I have ...
I was in fourth grade in 1958 (long, long ago!) when I first started with the clarinet. I was so-so with the clarinet. Then I changed to the oboe as a sophomore in high school (1964). My class with the Oboe teacher was once every week. When I was a junior and senior I was in the orchestra for the oboe and English horn, and band for the clarinet. I was better at Oboe and clarinet.
Then I went to college at San Jose State in 1967. I was a music major and physical science was my ...
My name is Pat Dolan and I suffer from traumatic brain injury.
A little over 4 years ago I was working as a civilian for the US Navy as a manager for the Business Operations Directorate of the Command. I was a master of multi tasking, data analysis and a highly respected advisor both at the local command and on many advisory groups in Washington DC.
My wife and I met Feb 14 1980 when we both were working at the Pentagon in Washington. After consulting with my boss she came up to my desk and ...
My name is Memory McAdams. I suffered my head-injury in June of 1989, when I was 19 years old and a student at San Diego State. I was driving along the Pacific Coast Highway, traveling home to Santa Barbara. Then suddenly a man traveling the opposite direction had a stroke, crossed over the double yellow lines and hit me head-on.
I was knocked into a coma that lasted for 6 months and the doctors were afraid I would never wake up. But, luckily, I did.
When I finally woke up, I had to relearn everything: ...
