Trouble came out of the blue. Then again, who ever expects it? It always drops like a heap of snow on your doorstep.
George Whitaker was a longhaul lorry driver. For five years hed been turning the wheel on the EnglandNorway route, England to Norway and back again. A photo of his beloved wife on the windscreen, the radio playing Classic FM, a strong brew in his thermos what more could a driver need? Yet there was still something missing: the warm scent of the scarf his mother had knitted, his fathers firm handshake before every run, the comforting certainty that home was waiting for him, loving him, counting the minutes, the seconds, the hours.
One day he didnt come back from a delivery. A few days later Emily learned that George was in a hospital in York. Hed lost control of an oncoming tanker on a bend, the wheels skidded, and the two vehicles tumbled onto their sides. The other driver escaped with merely a fright, but George suffered a serious head injury. The blow struck the parts of his brain that hold memory. It could have been worse loss of speech, limbs, even life but fate dealt what it did. He could recall neither his name nor who he was, nor what had happened. When his family entered the ward, they looked like strangers to him. The doctors could offer no hopeful prognosis; the human brain is a baffling, stilllargely uncharted organ. So it was left to Gods will: if he healed, good; if not, they would have to make do.
He was discharged, but the reality proved far tougher than anyone imagined. George not only erased his past, his shortterm memory failed him as well. He couldnt remember what had occurred three hours earlier, and even simple household tasks slipped his mind. He couldnt heat a kettle or take a solitary walk without assistance, and there was a genuine fear he might never find his way home again. His intellect, will, motor skills and emotions were untouched he wasnt left a fool just his memory, which could, with time, return. Such things happen.
Emily was pregnant. She went on maternity leave and devoted every waking hour to her husband. She wept at night, remembering how George had talked about the baby, how hed brought small toys home from each haul for the child yet to be born.
Why, George? Emily would lament, Its still early. They say you shouldnt buy gifts in advance its a bad omen.
Ah, superstitions, love, George would chuckle, twirling Emily in his arms. I just want our daughter to light up the first time she sees her room, to have toys everywhere a sea, a whole sea of happy trinkets.
He would arrange them on shelves, on the windowsill, hang them above the crib. When they left the hospital, a nurse handed Emily a tiny plush bear.
Strange, do you carry a talisman on the road? Emily asked, halfamused at the idea of a grown man travelling with a toy.
Indeed, a talisman now, George replied.
Emily placed the bear on Georges bedside table rather than the nursery.
They often strolled together in the park, laughing, sharing icecream. Passersby assumed they were a happy couple awaiting a new arrival and largely they were. Yet after a nap following a walk, George would forget the walk entirely, even that his wife was expecting. Emily had to start from scratch each time, reminding him that she was his wife and that a daughter would soon graces their lives. Georges parents pitched in, easing the mounting pressures.
One evening his father, John Whitaker Sr., called Emily into the kitchen, shut the door, and said, Emily, well understand if you ever think of leaving George. Youre young, beautiful, with a long life ahead. But can you stay? In a year or two youll hate him, and the burden will be heavy, especially if his memory never returns. Progress looks bleak. As for the granddaughter, well love her anyway. Well help if needed. Well understand, dear.
Emilys heart roared with a mix of exhaustion, anxiety, and hurt. She forced a smile, bowed her head slightly, and John, his silver hair brushed aside, whispered, Dont give up, love. Well manage. Youre strong, even with a child on the way.
Emily had always been slight, never tall. Beside her, George seemed a giant. When he first brought her to his parents house, they were startled but kept it to themselves. Later their son would ask, Shes like a crystal! Where did you find such a one? The Whitakers quickly grew fond of Emily she was kind, a little shy, and, most importantly, treated them with genuine warmth. From then on George often called her my crystal.
Their daughter Lily was born. George, together with his parents, welcomed Emily from the maternity ward, his face beaming. The next morning he asked, What kind of baby is this? and Emily began again, recounting the story shed told countless times, now adding Lilys details. George would cradle Lily, his eyes shining with joy each time.
At first Emily moved Lilys cot from the nursery into her own bedroom so the baby could be close; nights were often sleepless, Lily was fussy and slept poorly, and Emily stayed up caring for George as well, fearing he might need a drink of water or anything else at odd hours. She stopped sleeping altogether. The relentless nights and fatigue took their toll her milk dwindled.
Darling, why dont you let us move in with you? Its hard for you alone, urged Lilys grandmother, Helen Whitaker.
No, Ill manage, Emily replied, sparing her parents further worry they were no longer young and knowing she would have to live with this forever, needing to stay strong and composed.
Lily was switched to formula. One night Emily woke not to Lilys cries but to a soft humming lullaby:
In the room the toys are scattered,
Children dream sweet, unshaken,
A fox steals the socks,
An elephant misbehaves at the gate,
Days whirl with snowstorms spin,
Outside the white snow glistens,
The moon draws shadows,
Searching for its silver likeness.
She lifted her head and saw George rocking Lily. One hand clutched a precious bundle, the other held a bottle of formula that Lily was sipping. Emily slipped quietly onto the bed, not uttering a word, afraid to disturb George after all, the child was in his arms. The room glowed under a full moon, every corner lit.
Thats happiness, she thought.
George tucked Lily in, took the little bear from the bedside table and placed it in the cot. Here you go, love, a gift from me. Then, shivering a bit, he crawled under the blanket beside his wife.
I love you, my crystal, he whispered.
