Doctor Frosty by John C. Laird (carter reed TXT) đ
- Author: John C. Laird
Book online «Doctor Frosty by John C. Laird (carter reed TXT) đ». Author John C. Laird
The snowman stood glistening in the glow from the porch light. Eli Solomon, his breath misting in the twenty degree air around him, watched the slow graying of the six a.m. darkness with a growing sense of urgency. He and the snowman, Dr. Frosty, were ready for their trip, but with a six hour drive still ahead of them Eli just hoped that it wasnât too late.
The rented, refrigerated truck was backed into their driveway, the cargo door open and the lift gate lowered, ready to receive its important load. Eli had the hand-operated forklift ready to move the sturdy wooden pallet upon which the snowman rested.
He and his wife, Amy, had created Dr. Frosty the prior day. He stood over six feet tall, of traditional snowman countenance and garb. His eyes and a smiling mouth were made of charcoal from the past summerâs barbeques, the buttons down his front from the red decorative rocks found around their flower beds. He sported a large, plastic carrot nose and tree branches for arms. A bright red scarf circled his thick neck, and a black top-hat rested regally upon his head.
Frosty had acquired the âDoctorâ appellation from Amy. A stethoscope gleamed from around the snowmanâs neckâabove and over his scarfâdonated by a friend of Amyâs at the Cloudcroft Hospital. An old, black doctorâs bag would soon be adorning one of Dr. Frostyâs armsâŠ
Amy had come outside, but had stopped several feet away. She was holding the doctorâs bag in a white, mitten-clad hand, the words âDr. Frostyâ stenciled in white on both sides of the bag. A red, knit hat was pulled down over her ears, strands of her dark hair fighting their way loose around the edges. She was staring at the snowmanâseemingly mesmerizedâher free hand clutching the front of her heavy winter coat.
Her luminous, brown eyes reflected the light from the porch, eyes now even brighter as they brimmed with tears. Eli didnât know if it was from the cold, or if she was on the verge of crying. He walked over to her.
She looked at him with a small, sad smile, wiping away a tear that had escaped down her cheek. âI just got off the phone with the Andersonâsâtheir daughter had a bad nightâ they werenât sure she was going to make it. She said to be careful, but to please hurry; theyâll be expecting you.â
She hooked the handle of the bag over the snowmanâs tree-limb arm, briefly resting her hand on his rounded chest before continuing. âYou boys better get a move on, you have a long drive ahead of you.â
Eli knew there was something more behind her tears, but remained silent. He began the process of loading Dr. Frosty onto the truckâmanaging the operation without mishapâand secured the big snowman with restraining ropes as best he could.
Having finished, he looked over at Amy. She was still standing near the front porch with her arms crossed in front of her, looking small and frail. Walking over to her, he noticed that her eyes still glistened. âAre you sure you wonât come with me?â
âI canât. I donât think I could do it⊠not face to face. Itâs different than the Internet.â Standing on her toes to stretch her 5â4â frame up to his bending down 6â2, she gave him a hug and briefly pressed her cold lips to his. âYouâd better get going; the sunâs coming up. Iâm going to call once more and tell them youâre on your way.â
He was walking to the truck when she called out to him, âWait!â Running up, she gave him another kiss, longer, warmer. Now, the tears were streaming down her cheeks; she turned and ran back to the house.
Eliâs mind churned with emotion. He knew that Amy had been thinking, not only about the little girl in Tucson, but about their own daughter Mikaela, who had died over two years ago. She had passed away at the age of six after a two year battle with acute lymphoblastic leukemia. Amy had been devastated and had never fully recovered, had never let go of their little girl. She had refused to seek help, talk about Mikaela or discuss the possibility of any more children in their future. Eli worried that the shadow cast over Amyâs soul would defy the passage of time.
Eliâs own struggles with the loss of their only child had been long and agonizingâthe scars would always be with himâbut eventually he had moved forward out of the shadows. Unfortunately, Amy had not made the journey with him.
For the last two years Amy had immersed herself in the blogs and Facebook pages of families with terminally ill young children. She had corresponded with several families, commiserated, offered advice and helped organize fundraisers for those so tragically stricken.
Death, inevitably, claimed those innocent young, and Amy would move on to the next child and family in need of solace, seemingly never finding any peace herself. Eli didnât know if this emotional commitment was therapeutic, or was just prolonging her pain. He could only hope and pray that her involvement with the plight of these children was somehow helping her.
As he pulled the truck out onto the highway and headed west, Eli couldnât help but wonder if the time had come, if she was ready to finally move forward.
Eli prayed that maybeâŠthis timeâŠ
#
Eli backed the truck up to the Tucson Childrenâs Hospital and carefully unloaded Dr. Frosty, placing him on the grassy area near the entrance. Eli had called ahead, and apparently this endeavor had been cleared with hospital security because no one bothered him while they unloaded. The snowman now stood regally in the seventy-five degree Arizona sunshine, an emissary from the mountains in faraway Cloudcroft, New Mexico.
Eli and Dr. Frosty didnât have long to wait before the hospitalâs main door opened, and a little five year old girl appeared in her wheelchair, being pushed by her father, her mother wheeling an IV pole beside them. Several doctors, nurses and orderlies followed close behind. Even a number of curious visitorsâas well as a few of the hospitalâs more mobile patientsâhad joined the approaching group.
The small band of stunned onlookers crowded around the tall, exotic snowman; a unique sight in the southern deserts of Arizona.
The father lifted his gravely ill daughter out of the wheelchair, a mere shadow of a child. The little girl touched the grinning snowman wonderingly. Her dad held her closer and higher, and she put her cheek against the coolness of Dr. Frostyâs smiling face, her own dry lips forming a rare smileâa smile that grew and grew.
Several minutes later the childâs mother approached Eli who had been standing apart from the group. She had been crying. âIâm Karen Anderson; you must be Mr. Solomon.â
âYes, maâam, but you can call me Eli.â
âEli, I donât know how to thank you. My daughterâs been sick most of her life; a life of endless doctors and hospitals. Sheâs never been outside of Arizona, never seen snow or a snowman, only pictures. Dr. Frosty is all sheâs talked about ever since your wife told us about the idea.â Karen wiped at her eyes. âIt may be the only reason sheâs held on these last few days.â
She held out her hand to Eli. âI think this was left in the doctorâs bag by accident, it must belong to your wife or daughter.â
Eli stared at the silver bracelet with its eleven dangling charms: The Ten Commandments and the Lordâs Prayer. Eli had to swallow several times to compose himself. âThat belonged to my daughter, Mikaela; Amy obviously meant for your little girl to have it.â
She had given away their daughterâs bracelet. He handed the cluster of silver trinkets back to the grieving mother and folded her hand around the charms. âThis is for your daughter, from the Solomonâs.â
He looked over at the ever growing crowd around the smiling snowman. He half expected Dr. Frostyâs beaming face to turn toward him and a stick arm to wave a final farewell. The big guy was a success, in more ways than one. Amy was finally free.
Eli squeezed her hand once more. âPlease excuse me, maâam, I have to get home; my wife needsâŠwantsâŠto talk to me about some thingsâŠâ
###
Text: John C. Laird
Images: istockphoto.com
Editing: Alexandra Laird
Publication Date: 02-02-2012
All Rights Reserved
Comments (0)