This short story is from <Heartwarming Collection of Short Stories for Seniors: 2 Books in 1> by Bradley Windrow. It is perfect for seniors, even for dementia patients. Be sure to read until the end, as there’s a special gift waiting for you! hope you enjoy it!
Music can heal the wounds that medicine cannot touch. –Debasish Mridha
Gerald was in no mood for rain. His car had sputtered to a stop two blocks back, and now he was trudging through the downpour, soaked to the bone and cursing everything in sight. The rain reminded him of the worst day of his life—his wife’s funeral, held on a similarly miserable, drizzly day. Bitter memories clung to him like wet clothes, and he muttered to himself as he stomped through the puddles.
As he turned a corner, his grumpy mood was interrupted by the sound of singing. He spotted a young woman singing loudly, joyfully, as if the rain only made the song sweeter. Irritated by her cheerfulness, Gerald stormed, ready to tell her off.
“Hey! Can you knock it off?” Gerald barked, trudging over with a scowl. Violet, the young street performer, ignored him, continuing her performance with even more enthusiasm.
“Unbelievable,” Gerald muttered, shaking his head.“ You’re making a racket!” Violet glanced at him briefly, smiled, and kept singing. Gerald’s irritation boiled over.
“You know what? I’m calling the police! This is a public disturbance!” He threatened, pulling out his phone for dramatic effect. No reaction. Violet simply shifted into a new song, her voice softening. It wasn’t just any tune, though. As soon as the melody hit his ears, Gerald froze. He recognized it immediately.
It was the same song he’d heard all those years ago in the hospital. The day his wife had gone into labor. The birth had been complicated—his son was in a breech position, and the doctors had whispered the unthinkable: Neither your wife nor your child might make it through this. Gerald remembered sitting in the waiting room, terrified and helpless, his heart in his throat.
And then, out of nowhere, a little girl sitting a few seats away had started humming a tune. It was soft, almost like a lullaby, and before long, she began singing it aloud. That song had pierced his fear, giving him a small thread of hope to cling to. Now, years later, in the pouring rain, that same melody was being sung by this stranger. Violet’s voice carried the same softness and gentle hope that had once kept him together in that hospital waiting room.
Gerald felt his anger melt away as the memories washed over him. The fear, the panic, and then the relief—his son had made it through. His wife had survived, too. It had been a miracle. But that moment of fear, of facing the possibility of losing them both, had never left him. And this song—this song had always been tied to that terrifying yet hopeful night.
He didn’t say anything more. He didn’t need to. As the song ended, Gerald turned and walked home, lighter than he’d felt in years.
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