This week, I drive Mick (not his real name) out to the site where the car in which he was a passenger slammed into a tree - and his brain injuries changed his life forever. He has been here once before, about 10 years ago he tells me. As we approach the area, he becomes quiet and I know it is because he is searching for that tree.
We leave the car, and walk up and down the road, looking. I don't know what I was expecting - some monster growth of tree trunk, perhaps, reaching with malicious intent out into the road? Scratches and gouges, all these years later? I hadn't realised that it is a popular area for walkers: a trail leads away from the road into woodland. The trees are green spindlesticks, surrounded by summer growth of fern. It is a warm day. The road is a fast one, though, and the thought of that awful moment of impact chills me.
Mick cannot find the tree. It is a while before he looks up and admits that things might have changed, here. New growth has obscured what he thought would still clearly be visible. After a while, I hesitate, then suggest that - maybe - it is a sign that things move on.
He thinks, then says, 'Do you think that God is saying to me that I should let go; move on too?'
What can I say? 'Yes, I do Mick. Everything moves on in this world, doesn't it?' I think back to our earlier sessions; he was so angry. So caught up in his past. I look at him, and he is smiling.
I'm not suggesting that this is the happy ending he deserves - that would be trite. But at least there is a chance - a small one perhaps - that he will one day begin his process of letting go.
I guess there is a chance that this memoir will become part of that.
Ali x
No comments:
Post a Comment