Comfort in Your Voice

My cell phone dinged. It hadn’t stopped since the day our daughter, Katy, had gone into the hospital as a result of a slipped needle biopsy that caused a collapsed lung. Initially, she had thought to be discharged after an overnight stay. However, Katy had been diagnosed with metastatic melanoma with fluid building rapidly around her heart.

In desperation, I had turned to my phone and entreated everyone on my social media friend list to pray for our daughter. The many responses had heartened me, but in reality, I was in a state of mourning. My husband, Joe, had grown stoic and silent. Katy herself still had a smile on her face as she received visitors, but the fear in her eyes was apparent.

There was a shadow deepening in Katy’s room. The shadow of not knowing. My phone dinged again. I saw that it was my friend Camilla, with whom I’d performed in community theater productions years ago. Blessed with a glorious soprano, she had sung at Katy’s wedding eight years earlier.

I stepped out of Katy’s room and asked Camilla to sing for me.

“Over the phone?” she asked.

“Yes. Sing ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone.’”

When she finished and I was done crying, I went back to Katy’s room. Not all of the shadows had vanished, but many of them had been chased away by my friend and the words of an old song.