Waking Up In The Hospital
1256 Words
Alessia’s POV
The sirens were getting closer.
I could hear them somewhere beyond the broken windows, their wailing growing louder as I struggled to keep my eyes open. Everything around me was blurry. My head hurt, my chest felt tight, and every breath sent pain shooting through my body.
I tried to move, but I couldn't.
“Mommy?”
My voice came out as barely more than a whisper.
There was no answer.
I turned my eyes toward the front of the car, desperately searching for my mother and father through the shattered glass and twisted metal.
“Daddy?”
Nothing.
My little brother was beside me, frighteningly quiet. His stuffed reindeer lay near his feet, and I wanted to reach for it. I wanted to pick it up and give it back to him because I knew how much he loved that silly little toy.
But my arms wouldn't listen to me.
“Luca,” I whispered. “Wake up.”
He didn't move.
Tears slipped down my cheeks.
“Please, Luca. We have to go to Grandma's house.”
The sirens grew louder.
I heard voices outside. Someone was shouting for help, and another person kept telling me to stay still.
I wanted to tell them that I was scared.
I wanted to tell them that my brother wasn't waking up.
Most of all, I wanted my mother.
I wanted her to reach into the back seat, brush the tears from my cheeks, and tell me everything would be okay.
Because Mommy always knew what to do.
Whenever I had a nightmare, she would climb into my bed and hold me until I fell asleep again. Whenever I scraped my knee, she would kiss it and tell me I was brave. Whenever I thought the world was too big and frightening, she reminded me that I would never have to face it alone.
You're my brave girl, Alessia.
Her voice echoed inside my head.
I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to imagine her smile.
Then I remembered Daddy laughing at me that morning.
You'll change your mind in about five minutes, princess.
He had been right, as usual.
I had told him I would never ask him another question, but I knew I would have asked him a hundred more before we reached Grandma's house.
I would have asked him to tell me a story. I would have asked him to buy me hot chocolate. I would have asked him to carry me inside even though I was getting too big for him to do that comfortably.
I would have asked him to do anything, just so I could hear him laugh again.
My chest tightened.
I wanted my family.
I wanted to go home.
I wanted it to be Christmas morning again.
Luca laughing beside me. Mommy teasing us from the front seat. Daddy smiling in the rearview mirror.
I remembered how my little brother had held up his stuffed reindeer and asked whether Grandma would let him keep it at her house.
I remembered Mom pretending to be annoyed when we teased her.
I remembered Dad reaching over to squeeze her hand at a red light, and the way she smiled at him.
They had looked so happy.
So in love.
So certain that the day ahead of us would be filled with nothing but laughter, food, and Christmas memories.
How could everything have changed so quickly?
How could one moment be so beautiful, and the next be so frightening that I couldn't even recognize my own life?
“Mommy,” I whispered again.
The word barely left my lips.
The world began to fade around me. The voices outside grew distant, and the sirens seemed to come from somewhere far away.
I tried to fight it.
I didn't want to close my eyes.
I was afraid that if I did, I might never see my family again.
But I couldn't keep them open.
My last thought was of my father's smile.
My last wish was to hear my mother's voice.
And the last thing I remembered before everything went dark was the sound of my little brother laughing.
Then there was nothing.
---
I would later learn that strangers had rushed to help us.
I would learn that the first people to reach our car had called for emergency assistance and that firefighters had worked desperately to free us from the wreckage.
I would learn that paramedics had tried to save my father at the scene.
But they couldn't.
My father died that Christmas Day.
The man who had made me feel safe enough to believe nothing bad could ever happen to us was gone before I could tell him how much I loved him.
I wouldn't learn the details until much later.
At the time, I knew nothing.
I was unconscious when the paramedics lifted me from the wreckage. I didn't know that they had rushed me into an ambulance, or that another ambulance carried my mother while a third carried Luca.
I didn't know that strangers were fighting to save the people who meant everything to me.
I didn't know that my family was already breaking apart.
All I knew was darkness.
And somewhere in that darkness, I could still hear the echoes of Christmas morning.
---
When I opened my eyes again, I wasn't in the car.
I wasn't at home.
I wasn't at Grandma's house.
I was in a hospital bed, surrounded by strange machines that beeped steadily beside me.
I didn't understand where I was.
My body felt heavy, and pain seemed to exist everywhere at once. There was something attached to my arm, something covering my face, and a strange pressure around my head.
I tried to move.
A sharp ache stopped me.
A frightened sound escaped my throat.
A nurse appeared beside my bed.
“Easy, sweetheart. Don't try to move.”
I stared at her, confused.
“Where am I?”
“You're in the hospital, honey. You've been hurt, but you're safe right now.”
The hospital.
The word made the memories return in scattered pieces.
The snow.
The truck.
The screaming.
The crash.
My eyes widened.
“Mommy?”
The nurse's expression changed.
“Sweetheart, you need to rest.”
“Where's my mommy?”
She looked at me for a moment before gently adjusting my blanket.
“I'm going to find your doctor, okay?”
“No!” Panic rose in my chest. “I want my mommy!”
The nurse took my hand.
“I know you're scared. We're going to take care of you.”
“But where is she?”
She didn't answer.
I began to cry.
“Where's my daddy? Where's Luca?”
The nurse squeezed my hand, and I saw tears gathering in her eyes.
That frightened me more than anything else.
Grown-ups weren't supposed to look like that when children asked questions.
They were supposed to smile. They were supposed to explain things. They were supposed to tell you that everything was going to be all right.
I wanted someone to tell me that I had dreamed the whole thing.
That my family was in another room, waiting for me.
That Daddy would come through the door, call me princess, and scoop me into his arms.
That Mommy would kiss my forehead.
That Luca would climb onto my bed and show me his stuffed reindeer.
Instead, the nurse called for the doctor.
And I began to understand that something was terribly wrong.
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