The Aurora Borealis

The green light dances through the sky in majestic leaps and swirls – the emerald hues boldly contrasting the deep purple of the night’s canvas. It seems otherworldly, a magic trick at the hands of a magician who will soon reveal hundreds of strobe lights emanating the green light we see, grounding us back into reality. This magic is real, though, and it reminds us that nature is filled with unrivaled beauty. As we lie here, the verdant hues seem to dance out of the sky and envelope us in a warmth filled with hope.

“Mommy, did you see that!” Corrine squeals as a shooting star bursts across the viridescent ribbons in the sky.

“I missed it, baby,” I fib. “It must have been just for you. Did you make a wish?”

“A wish?” she wrinkles her little noise inquisitively. “But it’s not my birthday,” she replies, turning to look at me.

“A shooting star is a special thing, baby,” I say with a wink. “You get to make a wish whenever you see one sparkle through the sky.”

She smiles, her eyes twinkling in wonder as she momentarily shuts them. “I did it,” she says. “I made my wish!”

The lights suddenly turn on, and Dr. Kelley enters the room. I blink my eyes a few times to adjust to the sudden jolt back to reality. “Oh, I’m so sorry to interrupt. Corrine, it’s time for your evening treatment,” he says, checking the white and black generic clock hanging on the wall, ostensibly out of place among the kaleidoscopic collection of posters featuring the places we’ve traveled to, albeit via YouTube videos and our imaginations, adorning the walls. I follow his glance – five o’clock on the dot, like clockwork.

“Mommy, when I come back, can we go to Antarctica next and see the penguins?” Corrine eagerly asks.

“Sure, baby girl. That sounds magical; I can’t wait. Maybe we can come up with names for the penguins,” I say with a smile.

“Yes! And the baby ones too,” Corrine adds with a joy that never ceases to warm my heart, even when the all-consuming sadness aches down to my bones.

“Dr. Kelley, this morning I was in Australia,” Corrine excitingly reports. “Mommy and I went to the Great Barrier Reef, and I saw sharks and lots of fish that looked like they were giving kisses, like this.” Corrine puckers her delicate lips, injecting a fleeting sense of color to the gray malaise that shadows her angelic face. “And tomorrow, we’re going to the Amazon where there are jaguars, and they can run up to 50 miles per hour,” she exclaims, pumping her frail arms in a running motion for a brief moment before the energy expense leaves her staggering to regain that sliver of strength she barely had to give.

“That sounds absolutely spectacular,” charms Dr. Kelley, as he gently puts his right hand on her tiny back to help her stabilize and catch her breath. “I cannot wait to hear about everything you see,” he marvels.

Corrine begins to make her way to the door, the gapes in her gown revealing pale skin stretched tautly over her tiny spine; her gown strings tied as tightly as they can be, in an attempt to offset the shrinking frame hidden underneath. “Oh, and right before you came in, Mommy and I were in Alaska, and we saw the green lights,” she utters with her gentle, innocent smile.

“Oh, you mean the aurora borealis,” Dr. Kelley complements in awe.

“Yes! The…a…,” Corrine hesitates in her attempt to assert the name back to him. “The a-rawr-a bor-eee-alice!” she proudly strings out. “Dr. Kelley, I also saw a shooting star and made a wish! Even though it’s not my birthday, Mommy said seeing a shooting star means I can make one,” she avows.

“Your Mom is absolutely correct,” Dr. Kelley affirms. “What did you wish for?”

“Wishes are secret,” she reminds him. “But I’ll tell you if you promise not to share it because then it might not come true,” she cautions with the sweetest little smirk, as she gestures Dr. Kelley to bend down. She cups her tiny hands around her mouth to whisper in his ear.

Dr. Kelley complies and cups one hand around the back of his right ear to ensure the secret is kept safe. “That’s a beautiful wish, Corrine,” he says, as he stands back up. I can visually see his heart sink as mine follows in unison.

He turns and places his left hand gently on her little back to lead her out of the room. As he takes a few steps, he looks back at me with a wistful smile – the type of gesture you offer when you are at a loss of what to say because you know there is nothing more you can give or do. On cue, the tears begin to swell in my eyes, as my baby girl walks slowly out of the room, her fragile silhouette blurring as the tears flood down my cheeks.