Quote:
The Calling (10) : A beautiful melody drifts on the air from somewhere far away. The vocals are in a language you don't quite recognize, but feel somehow familiar to you. Something about the song calls to you, but no matter where you go, the song seems to sound the same distance away. The longer it goes on, the more emotional the song becomes--and the more emotional you become. Something about the song is possessive and consuming, like it's all you can think of. Something resonates in you as the song crescendos, and the feeling is at its strongest--be they good, bad, anything, but suddenly the song fades, and there's only an emptiness inside of you. The feeling of loss is strong, and can leave someone feeling emotionally numb. Someone out there was calling to you, and you couldn't find them.
Wordcount: 775
Wordcount: 775
The two-year old ran around the park, chasing bugs and other kids, as the glorious sunny Sunday slowly started to fade. Nate watched his daughter play, only standing to go to her when she went sprawling on the grass, he helped her get up and dust off the grass stains on her jumper before patting her bottom and urging her to go back to playing, the smile on his face not quite reaching his sad eyes. His little girl was rambunctious, she took life by the horns and didn’t let go. She smiled in the darkest of nights, bringing light and laughter with her everywhere she went. And she had no idea she would have been a big sister had circumstances been different.
Truthfully the young man was somewhat jealous of the toddler. He too would have loved to be ignorant but that was not the way things worked out. It had been out of his hands. Out of both of their hands. Neither had realized she had even been pregnant in the first place. It had been a surprise, one that had ended just as rapidly as it had happened, and Nate still wasn’t sure how to cope with it all. Dessie was talking to her therapist, coming to terms with the loss. Nate knew he should follow her lead and seek professional help but still he hadn’t done so. He hadn’t taken that last step by calling someone. Talking to someone. It was all still so unreal to him. The baby that could have been… should have been.
Nate sat there on his bench, watching his baby girl turn her attention to digging in the sandbox and thinking about what might have been, his heart aching with each breath. So lost in his own thoughts it took a moment for the sound to register. A beautiful, if haunting, melody drifted on the air from across the park, somewhere from out of sight. The strum of a guitar, pipe of a flute, and even the sob of a violin. A song that sounded familiar, a somber ballad, the vocals twining about the instrumental notes. Something about it made Nate want to listen more. To find the players. To beg them to play more, to sing more, to wash away the sorrow that was building in him.
It wasn’t until a small hand gripped his finger that Nate looked down to see Sarah looking up with her, a confused look on her face. “Daddy?” the toddler asked. He hadn’t even realized he had gotten up from the bench where he had settled once they got to the park, let alone realize that he was halfway across the patch of green this park called a field. It was a shock, and quite horrifying really, to realize that he had very nearly walked away from his daughter. It was like he had been possessed. Moving mechanically and oblivious to the world around him, even as the music swelled around him, tugging at him. Trying to lure him back into its grip… and yet the toddler’s grip on his fingers were tighter.
As the rolling feelings of grief and heartache swelled in him, following the song crescendo, Nate sank to his knees and hugged the child close. “Daddy, is right here princess,” He choked out, tears dripping down his cheeks as his emotions crested within.
And then it was gone.
The song. The pain. The sorrow. It was as if the music had dug out every heartache he had and it left him empty. Numb.
Someone had been out there calling to him, urging him to come to them, and yet couldn't go. Couldn’t leave his baby behind.
“Daddy?”
“Yes princess?”
“Why are you crying?”
“Because I am sad.” It was also the first time he had vocalized his grief over the loss. Recognized it for what it was and allowed himself to say it out loud.
“Oh,” His little girl pulled back from the hug and shoved her hand into her pocket. She held out her hand and deposited a little violet star charm, and a sobering amount of sand, into Nate’s outstretched hand. “Don’t be sad Daddy. Here.” She rubbed her sandy, dirty, palms against his cheeks leaving smears of mud across his face. “Come play, that will help.” The toddler urged her father to his feet before dragging him back to the sandbox.
It didn’t make it ‘all better’ but it had helped. It had helped ease the pain that had been building. And it had helped show Nate that he needed to talk to someone, anyone, because what had just happened couldn’t happen again.
