Chloes' Song

The dream fades away the moment Chloe opens her eyes. What felt real, mere seconds ago, vanishes. Reality is in front of her, lying in a bed hooked to monitors and tubes. The predominant smell of disinfectant contrasts sharply with the sorrowful melody of ‘I’ll be home for Christmas’ which echoes along hospital corridors.

Mumbled voices mix with sounds of activity drift into the room where she sits, while the constant beeping of machines and ventilators hissing blend obnoxiously with the festive music. She is unaware of this, her attention is focused on the frail figure of the man lying in the bed, her father.

‘…if only in my dreams’ distant words now meaningless to her.

Glancing at the clock, ten-forty p.m.

Right now, children are fighting to stay awake with heavy eyes drooping against their will. While dreams of catching a glimpse of Santa hover in the imaginative minds of youth. Holiday parties are in full swing, while others gather in a church to give thanks. The world keeps moving, but not in this place, here time slows down, sometimes halting completely. How much more time did they have together. Like a child Chloe silently pleads her Christmas wish, ‘let him make it to midnight.’ She isn’t a child anymore, she knows the reality, she knows the truth and the truth was she was soon to become an orphan.

‘Do you hear what I hear…’ floats in the room. Chloe smiles at the figure lying in bed.

Oh, how her dad could sing, to her it was the best. Many nights, as a child, she would be frightened by shadows lurking in the dark. Without fail he would enter the room, talking softly, sit beside her and sing.

Her dads voice so clear, so strong, so sure. However, in the last few months, his words were no more than a whisper over water.

Her gaze traces the tubes down to wrinkled hands mapped with blue veins and sunspots. Those hands once so strong, comforted her many times throughout her life, to reassure her, to let her know he was there. First day of school, first recital, first love, first heartbreak. Those callused hands healed all wounds. When worries of the world took hold of her, she needed only to put her tiny hands into his and all was well again.

‘Oh, I wish I had a river ...I could skate away on.’ These words taunt her, teasing her into thinking running away will make the pain disappear.

She will never leave, there is no where for her to run.

Chloe gazes upon the diminished man whose hair is no more than thin wisps of uncontrolled grey. As a teenager she was so jealous of the black curls that graced his head. His eyes once piercing blue now clouded and pale yet shone with love every time he looked upon her.

The home she grew up in will soon be empty, her mother two years gone. One time it was full of life and laughter, joy, and happiness. People may vanish, but memories remain.

Soft flakes fall in feathery waves of white, dimming the streetlights behind a sheet of mystery, and giving a haloed glow to the evening sky. In the near distance, the river graces the view, sheets of broken ice flow past, reflecting what little light there is. Chloes’ eyes droop from exhaustion. The same dream begins in a hazy mist of youth, smells of turkey and apple pie fill the air while laughter rings in every corner of the home.

Suddenly a sharp blare of ringing bells and alarms startles her awake.

The machines sing out in a choir of horror. Medical staff soon crowd the room, all hovering over her father. Voices calling out orders and instructions. Chloe feels a kind yet firm hand helping her stand, quickly finding herself behind the crowd, a stranger looking in from the outside. Her body floating above the turmoil in this surreal environment, she is no more than an observer trying to make sense of the situation.

Soon the sirens stop, the machines beeping continues as if nothing has changed. The room empties of all except a nurse and the doctor, who listens patiently to her fathers heart, his chest rises and falls in quick pants. With the stethoscope still hovering over her fathers chest, Dr. Laine looks up with a sympathetic smile and nods.

Soon….

The nurse tucks in the sheet and wipes her fathers face with a damp cloth, with a familiarity learned from experience. Walking to Chloe, she gently squeezes her shoulders and motions to the chair beside her father. Every action says, stay with him, let him know he is not alone.

Eleven fifty-seven…

Chloe leans in close to her fathers ear and in a soft voice begins to sing their favorite Christmas carol. Her voice wavers.

‘O holy night…. the stars are brightly shining..’

She remembers the duets with this man, the nerves she had before every concert,….the fear always disappeared the moment he held her hand and smiled.

The memory gives reassurance, Chloe continues to sing, her voice clear and strong.

‘O hear the Angels voices! O night divine…’

Chloe imagines her father singing with her. She embraces his strength. As a child she would glance up and watch his eyes light up with joy when he hit the notes so pure, and she felt pride to sing along with him as best she could.

‘O night divine, o night when Christ was born…’

A warmth grows inside her body, feeling her soul reach for the heavens when her voice sings the final line.

‘O night, O holy night, O night divine….’

The clock strikes midnight, soft chimes ring out, announcing Christmas day.

Opening her eyes, her heart skips, while taking in a quivering breath. A sob escapes as she watches a tear slide down her fathers cheek, and a smile of joy creases his worn face, as Chloe reaches out and holds his hand.

Thank you,

Jason