An hour and a voice

He glanced furiously at the clock hanging right above the bed. Only an hour to spare and so much to say and clear.

On his tip toes, he walked slowly towards the chest of drawers. The drawer creaked as he gently drew it out.

There was a sound behind him, a soft murmur and a sigh. He turned around and stood still. It was as if time had come to a standstill. A soft tear trickled down his cheeks. The boy was 14 now but still looked like the gurgling baby in his arms. He sat staring lovingly and longingly.

It was almost an hour hence. He quickly turned his attention to the drawer and did what he did everyday, dug out the age old cassette and put it on top of the dresser. Maybe today, his boy will find it, play it, hear it and understand it. Maybe today he will hear his dad’s voice explaining how he loved his baby but couldn’t take the chemotherapy any longer, how he had to move on.

An hour had almost passed. He knew he had to leave soon but he would come again tomorrow, hoping his son had found the tape and played it. If not, he would always have an hour and a hope of tomorrow.