Silent Night

"I'm so sorry," the Doctor say solemnly as he puts his hand on my left shoulder in an effort to show empathy. The rest of the conversation continues without audio. I see his lips move and watch his mannerisms -- but I can't hear a thing.

I thank him and walk out in silence. No one expects to have to face their own mortality at the age of thirty. I'm late for a flight to New York. I have a shoot the next morning.

I somehow manage to get to the airport; then on the plane. I sit in my seat, stoic. I can only hear the whirring of the wind outside my window gusting past me at 30 000 miles an hour. I exit Laguardia and hop in a cab to head to my hotel. There is complete silence both in my mind and in the city on this particular night.

The next sound I hear: luggage wheels clicking along the floor as I walk through the lobby of the hotel I am staying at. I see people, but they are silent. I can only hear the immediate noise of the clunking of my luggage as the wheels click past the separations in the marble tile.

I open the door to my suite and turn on my light. There she is: standing in the corner sucking her thumb. Her long dark wavy hair cascades around her shoulders. She wears her favourite Wonder Woman outfit and has on her shiny black tap shoes with the long black ribbons. She stares at me. She is confused.

I take off my winter coat and place it gently on the chair beside my bed. I sit down on the edge to take off my boots and I look at her.

"You scared?" I ask. She nods like any five year old would. "Come on then," I say and pull back the comforters so she can crawl into bed. She slithers in but remains silent while she fixes her gaze on me. I slide in beside her, brush her hair from her forehead and stare at her for a moment. My heart breaks for all the things I've promised her, and all the things I have yet to give her.

I tell her that everything is alright and that I love her. There are things she wants to accomplish in life that I haven't had a chance to do. I tell her that I'm sorry. I tell her that her dreams are important to me, and that I haven't forgotten any of them. She relaxes a little and her eyelids become heavy. She nestles in a little closer, and I wrap my arms around her. I want her to know that she is safe.

I wait until she falls asleep before I let the tears flow. I don't want to frighten her more than needs be. Her thumb half-slips from her mouth as her chin drops in deep exhaustion. I tell her that she is special to me; that I see her. I want her to know that even if no one else is able to see how amazing she is; that I can. I tell her that I will never leave her. She will never go through life alone.

And as the snow begins to fall outside; one silent winter night in New York City, I too fall asleep, despite the cold dampness of my pillow that has captured all my silent tears.