Silent Night, Holy Night

In late 2005, about half a year after I had a car accident, one evening just a few days before Christmas, I was lying in my hospital bed when I heard faint singing from down the hospital corridor.

"Silent night, holy night! All is calm, all is bright."

 

As I listened closely, I realized it wasn't just one or two people singing. It seemed like a church choir from a nearby church had come to visit. The sound of the singing gradually grew closer, and it seemed they were stopping at each hospital room to sing.

"Round yon Virgin, Mother and Child, Holy infant so tender and mild,"

 

I had heard "Silent Night, Holy Night" every year, but listening to the song while bedridden, having spent most of the day in bed after my leg amputation, made it feel like I was hearing it for the first time. Since I couldn't swallow food and was unable to eat, the song sounded like "delicious foods, tasty candy" to me, which made me feel sad. I was truly hungry. I just wanted to eat something simple like an omelet or drink some orange juice like the patient next to me.

 

"Christmas is only a few days away, but what does that matter to me?" I thought as the choir reached my room. A few members came into the room, while the rest remained in the corridor singing. There seemed to be over ten people. They sang "Silent Night, Holy Night!" from start to finish and then left.

 

"Sleep in heavenly peace, Sleep in heavenly peace."

Listening to the song calmed my sorrowful heart. Since my vocal cords were damaged and I couldn't speak, I could only express my gratitude by waving my hand. I was deeply grateful to the American choir who had taken the time to visit my hospital room.

 

Although I enjoy Christmas music performed by Celtic Woman, their songs don't move me as much as the choir's rendition of "Silent Night, Holy Night!" that I heard in my hospital room.

 

A few days after the choir's visit, I had vocal cord surgery and was able to speak, eat, and drink again. I was discharged from the hospital on December 31st, and my life in a wheelchair began. Through a long and painful process, I eventually learned to walk with a prosthetic leg and crutches, and by the next Christmas, I was able to walk to attend Mass.

 

Each year, when I hear "Silent Night, Holy Night!" during the Christmas season, I remember hearing the song long ago in my hospital room. Though it was a sad time, I felt the grace of God.

 

If I could sing, I would love to visit hospitals like that choir and sing "Silent Night, Holy Night!" in front of lonely and sorrowful patients. However, since I was born tone-deaf and sometimes find it difficult just to speak, it is an unattainable dream for me.

 

(December 24, 2017)