I suppose the eyes don’t actually lie, but I have learned that while the eyes may not, the brain certainly fudges the truth. I know that my memory and vision centers were the two parts of my brain that were damaged when I got hurt. I went most of two years not necessarily recognizing my own kids. If I sent them to grab a gallon of milk when we were at the store, there was a very real possibility that I may not recognize them when they got back to me. They were familiar, but I could not necessarily tell you who they were.
My first experience with this was about two months from surgery, and I failed to identify my niece in a public place where she should have been. It tended to happen far more often that I would like to admit, and it happened for a long time. I learned that I cannot easily follow my kids when they play sports, and even though I know their numbers, I can’t recognize them. Another trick of the brain is that I cannot follow action rapidly enough. An example of this was when I was watching my daughter play a basketball game. She shot the ball, I saw her shoot it, then I shifted my focus to the basket to see if it went in. I was not able to watch it in the air, or see where she shot from. I missed her three point shot at regionals that day. I knew she made the shot, which was awesome on its own, but she told me later, that it was for three. She only made a handful of shots that year, so we were both over the moon.
These lessons, while frustrating, seem to come less and less often. I took the kids to homecoming last fall, 3 years after my injury. A kiddo I knew well, came up with my daughter and gave me a hug when a group of moms and I dropped in to see the kids all dressed up. I had no idea who she was. She had moved a year before, and we helped her and her mom pack and unpack, she and my son had been classmates before the move. My daughter realized what had happened, having seen it many times before, and stepped in with “Mom, isn’t Maggie’s dress awesome?” so that I knew what was going on. I left the dance, and broke down. I am so much better, but I am still so impatient. Little steps, and every day is a gift.