"Someone's miracle..."

He repeated the words several times as he held her warm, sweaty hand within his. None of this made a damn bit of sense. How could a person be so warm and sweaty and feel so alive, and yet not really be very alive at all? How could her chest still rise and fall, her heart still beat, her pulse still radiate from her soft fingertips as he held them in his own sweaty hands... and yet, she was as lifeless as a human could possibly be without actually being dead.

He held her hand in his as tightly as he could and squeezed with all his might, hoping beyond all hope that she would respond. Hoping that she would sit up in the bed and tell him to "stop worrying so much"... the way she always had before. He was the worrier and she was the one who usually told him to relax.

He laid her hand gently back on the bed and smoothed the stray brown curls that hung loosely from beneath the bandage on her head, away from her ears... "I love you," he whispered as he tenderly kissed her cheek. He prayed she could hear him. Prayed that his words would somehow get through. That somehow even if she couldn't hear him, she already knew.

The words the doctor had said echoed in his mind;

"She may still be 'clincally alive'... but her brain has ceased to function.'

"Brain dead."

Oh how two small words could change a life in just a heartbeat. Just one moment. Just those two small words.

He leaned down beside her once more, not intending to leave her side until her heart beat it's last... until she breathed her final breath. Whatever it took to help him let go... he would stay until the moment he knew it was okay to let go. Once again he closed his eyes, hoping to find peace somewhere there in the darkness. An escape behind his eyelids...

Somewhere from deep within his mind's thoughts he heard singing. Beautiful singing. He breathed deeply and listened intently to the lyrics as he tried hard to focus on the child connected to the hand he'd been clutching to all day.

They were singing about her. They were singing about his daughter. His Lauren. In his entire life he'd never met another soul that could see the world the way she could see it. She saw everything in colors and portraits... in songs and poetry. She sang constantly, wrote stories and poems, painted pictures, and took thousands of amazing photographs. Their home was her studio. His once bare white walls... her gallery. He paused his thoughts momentarily and listened again, gently caressing her hand with his fingers...

The more he listened to this song the more he was sure of it. This song was her song. This song was their song. A father running out of hope, sitting on a bed in his daughter's hospital room, preparing to say goodbye to the best thing he has left in his life. He'd always been her safe place and she'd known that. A true 'daddy's girl' in every since of the word.

She was a teenager with hopes and dreams, ambitions and goals. All of those now shattered, taken away... gone with the life she'd be leaving behind. He grasped her hand more tightly in his own and kissed it tenderly. She'd left him a couple times... she'd gone on missionary trips to Africa and had just finished her freshman year of college, living in the dorms without him... but she'd always called him constantly to let him know how she was doing and sometimes just to talk. And in the end, when the trips were over, when her semester ended, when she had finished being independent, she'd always found her way back home. Always found her way back to him.

He glanced down at her again, the swelling in her face appeared less noticable today than it had been the day before... the bruising a yellowish tint, the smaller scrapes beginning to scab over. She was healing on the outside, but the inside he knew was a completely different story. She would soon be finding her way home again. To a different place. In a different sense.

This time she wouldn't be coming home to him.

The song ended after a few minutes. The lyrics had touched his heart and the voices had left him feeling calm and at peace. A feeling he hadn't felt in days. His eyes were filled with the tears he'd been holding back since the accident. He allowed them to slide down his wrinkled cheeks as he leaned forward and kissed her bruises softly. Another song filled the room and this one sounded familiar. "I never wanna hear you say, I want it that way"... where had he heard those lyrics before... why did this all sound so familiar?

Just then a nurse stepped into the room taking silent notice of his freshly falling tears. He tried his best to hide them, wipe them dry, but it was too late. She looked at him sorrowfully and laid her hand on his shoulder as he finally wept openly. They sat there for a few moments together as the music filled the room and his tears fell from his face to the sheets covering the bed and his daughter.

"I'm sorry." He finally sniffled when she handed him a tissue and he blew his nose loudly. "I just don't know how to do this... I mean... I just don't know how to do this."

She shook her head and took his hand, "It's okay Mr. Grant..." She said giving his a soft look, "no one knows how to do this."

And he knew she was right. He couldn't imagine any parent ever knowing how to let their child die. It wasn't right. It wasn't natural.

As the voices in the hall grew louder and came closer to her room he spoke again, "Who is that singing?" He finally gathered the strength to ask as he stifled another sob.

"Are they bothering you? I can ask them to leave if they're bothering you," She suggested quickly.

He shook his head quickly and stared down at his daughter once more, his hand never leaving hers, "I just want to know who it is."

"It's a famous pop group," she sighed as she walked over to the monitors and started jotting down numbers, "the Backstreet Boys... they came to visit the children in the ICU today. I really hope they're not bothering you."

He shook his head again and wiped a few more tears. He gripped her hand even more tightly. Now he knew why the music sounded so familiar. He sat back down beside her and brushed her cheek. He wished she would say something... just one word. He longed to hear her voice again... to see her shining green eyes. If she could just open them one last time and look at him... if he just knew she was aware he'd been there for her all along.

"She loved them," he whispered as the nurse continued to work around the silent pair. Her gazed fixed on the IV bag she was hanging.

"Pardon?" She asked turning to look carefully at him, not having heard what he'd said.

"She loved the Backstreet Boys."

"Oh."

"Yeah. I used to sing one of her favorite songs to her all the time when she was younger. At least I'm pretty sure it was one of their songs... I know that's what she told me."

The nurse looked towards the door and then back at the man sitting beside his daughter. Her heart went out to this man. He hadn't left her side in three days. He hadn't eaten, he'd barely had anything to drink and she knew for a fact that he hadn't slept. This was the hardest part of being a nurse... this kind of gutwrenching heartache.

"Mr. Grant?" She asked as he looked up at her through bloodshot eyes and nodded his head for her to go on, "Would you like me to ask them to sing for you... for her?" She nodded towards Lauren. It was the least she could do for this father and daughter. She'd always had a wonderful relationship with her own father... she couldn't even imagine the amount of pain he would feel if something ever happened to her.

He looked at her in surprise, "You mean... do you think they would?" He asked his tone dropping after he'd thought for a few seconds.

"I think they would," she responded.

"Then please," he replied as he once more stroked the stray hairs away from Lauren's face.

"You're going to want to hear this," he whispered in her ear as he wiped another tear from his cheek, "God I hope you can hear this..."