There's something comforting about knowing that the world is just one big mess of people. Tall, small, fat, skinny, blonde, dark-haired, red-haired - freckled or not - they're all people.
This means that we are all the same, and all of us are allowed to screw up.

I've screwed up before. At times I've screwed up a little and other times a lot. I think I've screwed up other people's lives, and sometimes I wonder whether I've also screwed up my own.

My name is Edgar. See, the first screw-up wasn't even my own. Not my fault. Seriously, who names their son "Edgar"? Had I been a poet in the 1800's I would have understood, but I'm not. I am a bloke who fixes dishwashers, dryers and all sorts of home appliances. And as previously stated, I am a guy who screws up. Just like everyone else.

I'm married too. Bet you didn't expect that, eh? Yup, I've got a beautiful wife and a kid on the way. So. I'm not a total screw-up, I guess. I mean, engaged at 28, married at 29 and expecting a kid at 30. Not half bad, is it?

But the next screw-up changes everything. It always does, doesn't it?
My wife works at the bank so she has a mile to drive every day, which is fine, it's not that much. She usually rides a bicycle, and when the baby is born, she takes it out of the garage again. It's her fourth day back at the office, Maggie is 11 months old. And Maggie doesn't screw up, my wife doesn't screw up and I - well, surprisingly, neither do I. But the bloke in the white minivan does.

My wife doesn't return that evening. Instead, I go to see her. My mother takes care of Maggie in the meantime. She didn't suffer. My wife, I mean. It's all over just like a click of the fingers. 
"SNAP!" and that was it.
And now Maggie and I - well mostly myself, Maggie doesn't seem to understad that her mother won't come back - grieve and cry for her.

I'm saying the screw-up thing to get through this. I'm not absolving the driver of the minivan - I want him to burn in the fiery pits of hell - but a wise man once told me: "Forgive and - oh darn I've forgotten the rest!"

So anyway, thanks Dad. My dad has Alzheimer's. But somehow he always seems to remember Maggie. How, I cannot even begin to explain.