Listening For The Lullaby

Listening For The Lullaby

The first time I heard the lullaby, I was getting ice from the dispenser in the nurse’s lounge.

I stared up at the white, drop-down ceiling, wondering if two days of sleep-deprivation was messing with my head.

The next time I heard it—outside my husband’s hospital room—my sister-in-law explained that the hospital played the lullaby to herald a baby’s arrival.

Soon, the lullaby’s familiar melody became an unwavering symbol of hope in a world fraught with uncertainty.

In between the neurosurgeon inspecting my husband’s sutures for infection, or orderlies bringing trays with omelets and coffee, which I drank simply for the bolstering effects of caffeine, I waited and I listened, I listened and I waited, struck by the fact that as a newborn took her first breath, someone—somewhere in that hospital—was probably taking her last.

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