Sing a Healing Song

Chapter 1

It all started with a trip to Ireland.

Well, not “all”. You could say some of it started the day I was born, and named Matthew D’Arcy, the only son of Mark D’Arcy, a football player, and his wife Annette.

And maybe some of it started later that same day when Annette died from complications of giving birth to me.

I was always a sickly kid, and my dad eventually gave up football so he could look after me better, and I have never doubted his love for me.

As for my health, I got a little better, but I never really got all the way better, if that makes any sense. In fact, after a decade of being more or less stable, I went downhill again.

By my fifteenth birthday I needed a cane for short distances, and a wheelchair for long ones.

Despite my struggles, I try really hard to keep a positive outlook, and going to the school I go to kinda helps with that. Its a school that is made especially for disabled kids and attached to one of the local hospitals, and it doesnt take you long walking around here to find someone who has a tragic story to tell.

I actually do pretty well at school considering my struggles, partially because I love reading so much. Fiction or nonfiction, I love it all.

That’s when my dad came up with this idea of going to Ireland. I had gotten interested in the family history, and he suggested we see where we came from, and it sounded pretty cool to me.

So as summer holidays approached, I said my goodbyes to my friends and everyone wished me well on my trip.

I even got a hug from a couple of girls, which was kinda fun ...

So off we went to “the Emerald Isle”, as they call it. Its amazingly beautiful, and I can really see where the name comes from. I mean, my home town has some really cool green spots, but ... wow is all I can say.

We went from Edmonton, to Calgary, to Toronto, to Dublin, to Belfast, and then to a small airfield in the northern part of Ireland, and finally to a small town called Coleraine.

We poked around the town for the day, and then retired to a small hotel to sleep. Dad helped me do my washroom business and then he helped me get into my pjs for bed. One of the cool things about my dad is he’s strong enough to transfer me, not that I weigh lot, but still, he can hold me up so I can be changed into pjs without any problems.

He gave me a kiss on my forehead, and went to his own bed. I wondered what his football teammates would say seeing him so gentle with me, since from what I’ve learned, he was quite feared on the football field. Yeah, I looked up my dad’s football career. He’d actually been a quarterback in high school, but switched to defence in University because our little Canadian Football League hasn’t had a Canadian quarterback in forever.

If he’s ever felt any regret about giving up football to look after a son who will never be an athlete, he’s never shown it around me.

I fall asleep feeling so grateful to have a dad like him.

***

The next morning, I woke up, and Dad helped me get dressed. We went downstairs and found a small cafe next to the hotel to have breakfast. While we waited for our food, I got a chance to ask the question that had been on my mind since yesterday.

“Dad, what are we really doing here?”

He smiled at me, and said, “Seeing where we came from.”

“So we’ve seen it. But we’re not packing to go home. “

“There is one spot left for us to see. A couple of miles up the road is a warm spring.”

“A ... warm spring? I mean, I’ve heard of hot springs. Alberta has those. What’s a warm spring?”

It’s like the hot springs, except the hot water mixes with cold water from a mountain stream to create a warm pool. Apparently, its like taking a hot bath.”

“Sounds nice. But I think you’re not telling me something.”

“Well ... this particular pool is supposed to be special. Some say its the minerals in the water, some believe it was blessed by a Catholic saint named Brigid, or even an old Celt goddess of the same name. The water ... is supposed to have miraculous healing power.”

“And I need healing. Is this a ... hail Mary, Dad? Am I running out of time?”

“You remember what I said about hope, don’t you?”

“You can’t survive without it. Sick or well.”

“Darn straight. Now, lets go.”.

We took our rental car out of town, and after a half-hour of driving, we found the entrance to the path to the spring, where we could park our car. It was lucky for us that the path had been smoothed, as my dad had to push my chair up a slight incline into a forest glade.

After several minutes, we rounded a corner, and there was a small shack where I could change into my swimsuit and even have a quick shower before I was wheeled to the water’s edge.

I had expected a crowd, but the place was empty.

My dad carefully lifted me out of the chair and sat me on the edge of the pool, and then I took a deep breath, and eased myself into the water.

It was wonderful, like taking a really warm bath and swimming in the ocean all at once.

Then the singing started.

The song was both sad and beautiful, as if the singer was mourning a loss and celebrating a life at the same time.

Then she came close enough for me to see her.

If her song was difficult to describe, so was she. She seemed to be part water, part fire, and part woman, but which parts where which kept changing. As she approached, her face became more visible, and like the rest of her, its hard to put into words what her expression was. It seemed to combine grief with determination, like she had lost more than she could take, but was hell-bent on losing no more.

She kneeled down to my level, and cupped my face, and then kissed me on the forehead.

A moment later, I was drowning, I was burning ...

Then I found myself standing on the edge of the pool.

Standing ... without aid ...

Before I could process that, I heard my father call my name.

I looked at him, and what I saw ...

The first thing I noticed was I was looking at him straight in the eye.

Up until a few moments ago, I was at least a full foot shorter than my dad, and that’s if I could have stood up on my tiptoes.

Then I noticed something else.

I saw my dad in some kind of double-vision. I could see him, but at the same time I could see all the damage he’d suffered playing football, from some stitches on his scalp to a broken toe on his left foot.

I also could see emotional scars on him as well. The two largest of these was a well of grief over my mother, and a pit of worry over me .

“I’m okay.” I said trying to calm him down.

“What the heck ...” I added once I heard my voice, which was totally different than the wheezing voice I had been used to hearing when I spoke.

“Okay, so my voice is different, I’m taller, what else has changed?” I thought to myself.

I turned and looked down into the water.

“I’m a ... I’m a ... woman.”

Fortunately, my dad was close enough to catch me before I hit the ground ...

*****