Somewhere,
a little girl has died.
Her
parents watch in tearful uselessness as the doctors bow their heads and drift
away from her broken form. The car had been too fast, too sure and fancy free.
A swerve too late, and the driver finds solace at the bottom of a bottle as the
memory of collision crashes through his mind.
It
is of little consequence to the two individuals who watched helplessly as life
dribbled from their little girl. There will be no friends coming knocking any
more, and they'll watch as her one time peers slowly grow and change, watch as
they live lives that mirror the one they've lost. The ballet dress will lie
hanging in the wardrobe, dusty but unforgotten, long after the funeral goers
are gone.
There
will be no pink presents under the tree this year. No dolls or Disney films to
watch into the dead of night, no reason not to drink as soon as the sun has
risen. There will be no first kiss, no tearful cries of teenage angst and
screams of hormonal rage to tire the eyes and test a love that would have held.
There will be no wedding to pay for. There will be no honeymoon and
grandchildren, no heirs worth estating, no point any more.
So
they fill the forms those two, they watch a life transform from the little girl
they love, to words on printed paper. Such a little thing, those signatures,
such a tiny mark. But as they scratch their names into it they dare to hope
despite their grief. Perhaps the mark of their daughter, will be more than just
another name to file.
***
Somewhere,
a little girl is dying.
Her
heart beats weakly, it always has. Her skin is washed out and blotchy, cool to
the touch in the heat of summer, in winter she hugs her hot water bottle
tightly. She has been waiting for 6 years now. Six years of dodging death and
hospital visits, of watching others her age grow and strengthen, watching them
do what she cannot.
She
is six years old and knows that she will die soon, if she cannot get the help
she needs. She is six years old now, and has lived with the knowledge that her
life is less than that of others, from the very moment she could comprehend it.
She cries at night time when her parents think her sleeping, so they do not
know just how afraid she is. All her dolls lie in beds made by a careful hand,
and wait for time to pass.
And
then there is the phone call.
In
a flash of light and noise her parents snatch her from her bed, and she finds
herself in familiar territory for an unfamiliar reason. They have a donor. As
her eyes drift closed she cannot speak so shouts inside her mind that she loves
her parents, she knows that they wont hear but decides to try it anyway, she
assumes that she wont get another chance. After all, she's been dying since the
day that she was born. Perhaps this is it.
The
next few days are long and painful, but her parents by her side smile more than
she has ever seen.
On
the day she is to leave the hospital she runs on the grass that lies outside.
Her legs don't know what to do, but the veins sluice with oxygen as they never
have before, and she shuffles forward as her mother laughs beside her. Her face
is rosy and flush, and her eyes shine as the breath runs longer than she can
ever remember. The legs don't know what they are doing, but they will learn.
Perhaps it's time her dollies left their beds, and ran around outside in the
sun.
Inside
the surgeon watches, and a ghost of a smile pirouettes across his face. This is
his payment, right here and now, in this moment. Years of training, hardship
and pain, of missed exuberance and cancelled plans, a lifetime of training and
work for moments just like these. He allows himself this tiny moment of light,
before he closes the blinds, and walks back to the desk. He has papers to look
through; a little boy is dying.
This
is humanity, when we fight to live despite the odds. When we pluck life from
death not with a roar, but with the steady silence of determination. We live in
a world of heroes and strength, of sacrifice and honour, and of hope that will
not be snuffed against the darkness of a midnight hour.
Somewhere,
a little girl lives.
