29October2025
Today I wrote down the way fate can drop upon you like a sudden snowdrift. Ive been a longhaul lorry driver for five years, shuttling between London and Copenhagen, then back again. On the cab windscreen sits a photo of my beloved wife, Mary, a BBC Radio2 station humming in the speakers, and a thermos of strong tea. Those things keep me going, but theyre not enough. I miss the warm scent of the knitted scarf my mum used to make, the firm handshake my dad gives me before each haul, and the comforting knowledge that someone at home is waiting, loving me, every single moment.
One night I didnt come back. A few days later Mary learned that I had been taken to the Royal Preston Hospital after a collision on the M6. The driver of the oncoming semitrailer lost control on a bend, and I tried to avoid the impact, but both vehicles rolled onto their sides. The other driver escaped with only a fright, while I suffered a serious head injury. The damage hit the parts of my brain that hold memories. It could have been worsemy speech, my limbs, even my will could have been taken. Instead, I woke up not knowing my own name, who I am, or what had happened. When the doctors and my family walked into the ward, their faces were strangers to me. No one could give me a hopeful prognosis; the brain is a mysterious organ, and the rest is out of my hands. If I recover, that will be a blessing; if not, I must learn to live with it.
When they finally discharged me, reality proved far more complicated than the doctors had feared. I not only lost my past; my shortterm memory failed me every few hours. I could barely remember what I had done three hours earlier, and simple domestic tasks escaped me. I couldnt heat a kettle, couldnt take a walk on my own, and I was terrified I would never find my way home again. My intellect, will, motor skills and emotions remained intactI wasnt reduced to a simpleton; I had just lost the memory that could, with time, return. Thats how the brain works.
Mary was pregnant at the time. She went on maternity leave and devoted every waking hour to me. At night she would weep, remembering how I used to bring a small toy from each trip for the child we hadnt yet met.
Why, Greg? she would sigh, Its still too early. You know they say you shouldnt buy a gift before a baby arrivesbad luck, they say.
Superstitions are for the weak, I would grin, twirling her around, I just want our daughter to see her room full of joy, a sea of toys.
I would arrange the toys on shelves, on the windowsill, hang them above a crib. When I was finally released from the hospital, a nurse handed Mary a tiny plush bear.
Strange talisman to carry around, isnt it? she asked, halfjoking at the sight of an adult driver clutching a toy.
Its a lucky charm now, Mary replied, and she placed the bear on my bedside table rather than our daughter’s nursery.
We often strolled together in the park, laughing and sharing ice cream. Passersby must have thought us a happy couple expecting a baby, and, for the most part, they were right. Yet after a nap following a walk, I would have no recollection of the walk itself or that Mary was expecting. She had to start from the beginning each time, reminding me I was her husband and that a baby girl named Poppy would soon join us. Her parents helped, easing the mounting pressure.
One afternoon her father, Ivan, pulled Mary into the kitchen, shut the door, and spoke gently: Mary, well understand if you ever think of leaving Greg. Youre young, beautiful, with a whole life ahead. But can you bear the weight of someone youll soon hate? What if his memory never returns? Weve seen little progress. As for the granddaughter, well love her as our ownour little bloodline. Well help whenever you need it.
Those words stirred a storm inside meexhaustion, worry, hurtall tangled together. Yet Mary smiled, bowed her head just a touch, and Ivan stroked her hair, whispering, Hold on, love. Well get through this. Youre strong, even with a child on the way.
Mary has always been petite, while I tower over her. When I first brought her to my parents house, they were startled but kept their composure. Later they asked me, Shes a real gem! Where did you find her? They grew to love Mary instantlyshe was kind, a little shy, and immediately warm toward my folks. Since then I have often called her my crystal.
Our daughter Poppy was born. I met Mary at the maternity ward, my heart full. The next morning I asked, Whats this little thing? and Mary began the story again, adding the newest chapterPoppy. I would cradle her, my eyes bright with delight each time.
In the first weeks Mary moved Poppys cot into our bedroom so the baby would be close, waking us at night with her restless cries. I stayed up, fearing she might need a drink of water or anything else. Sleep vanished for me, fatigue set in, and eventually my milk supply dwindled.
Dear, perhaps youd like us to move in with you, suggested my motherinlaw, Kira.
No, Ill manage, Mary replied, trying to spare her parents further worryshe knew she would have to live with this forever and needed to stay strong.
Poppy was put on formula. One night I woke not to her crying, but to a soft lullaby humming through the room:
Scattered toys upon the floor,
Children dream a sweet encore,
Foxes steal their biscuits bright,
An elephant plays at the gate at night,
Days whirl with snows soft flight,
Outside the snow glitters white,
The moon draws shadows, pale and light,
Seeking its silver portraits sight.
I lifted my head and saw Gregory rocking Poppy, holding a precious bundle in one hand and a bottle of formula in the other, while she sipped contentedly. I sat down quietly on the bed, careful not to disturb himafter all, the child was in his arms. Moonlight flooded the room, every corner lit by its gentle glow.
Now thats happiness, I thought.
Gregory tucked Poppy in, placed the plush bear on the cot, and whispered, This is for you, my lovemy gift. Shivering from the night chill, he crawled under the covers beside me.
I love you, my crystal, he murmured, and I felt a flicker of hope rise within me.
