Disclaimer: The main characters don't belong to me, but the rest does.

Note: Thank you, dear readers and reviewers! The YouTube listening assignment of the day is "Havet sjunger Ida Falk Winland". :-)

—

Dear Diary,

I sang for my dad today.

I was thinking earlier about how much better I already felt about my voice lessons now that Raoul and Meg were aware of them, and then I thought that maybe I should let Dad know.

Dad's been home for a week now. They kept him at the hospital for two days, then he had to spend a week in a psych ward because he was in a zombie-like state (he wouldn't talk, just cry every once in a while). When the psychiatrist was satisfied that the chances of his making a repeat attempt were low, he was released.

Since then, he's had to check in with his therapist every day. His sister, my aunt Hilda, came to stay with us for a few days, to take care of him, but she left two days ago. He's a lot better now. He's still clearly depressed, but at least he's making an effort to act more normal. For one, he responds when I talk to him.

Today, since it's Saturday, I was able to cook us lunch, and then we watched a movie together. After that, he seemed in a good mood, so I thought that it might be the right time to tell him.

"Hey, Dad?"

He turned his head to look at me.

I resolved to go about it casually:

"I'm not sure if I already told you, but I've been taking voice lessons after school."

He nodded, and I decided to take that as encouragement.

"My music theory teacher, Mr. Destler, thinks that I have a good voice, that I could be really good with practice, so he's been tutoring me after school."

"How much do I owe him?" Dad asked.

"Nothing!" I said quickly. "Mr. Destler's very kind, you know, - a sort of philanthropist! - and he said that he would feel guilty getting money for something that already gives him so much pleasure." I smiled. "He said that 'it would be a shame letting all that talent go to waste.'"

My dad again nodded thoughtfully.

"I remember, when you were a little girl, you always used to sing. Yes… and you had a pretty voice, too."

I smiled.

Then he asked me, out of the blue: "Would you sing something for me now?"

I was stunned.

"I… Of course."

He wanted me to sing now, after all those years of silence.

I tried to think of something suitable. Then I remembered: Mr. Destler - bless him - had me learn a Swedish song just a couple of weeks ago! Dad would happy to hear to his mother tongue, even though he'd given up long ago trying to teach it to me.

I cleared my throat, and tried my best to look confident.

"Alright. It won't be perfect, since I'm not warmed up, but I'm going to sing 'Havet sjunger' by Gösta Nystroem. You may already know the poem - I think it's by Ebba Lindqvist."

I was dreadfully nervous, but I had to sing.

I closed my eyes, emptied my mind, took a deep breath, and did my best to let my voice just flow out of my body:

"Och om du älskar mig eller ej gör detsamma, om ditt hjärta är varmt eller kallt gör detsamma, och våra ord må vi spara."

(Whether you love me or not, it is the same, and whether your heart is warm or cold, it is the same, and we must save our words.)

In my mind, I heard Mr. Destler playing the haunting piano accompaniment. The piano was the singing of the sea - I could hear the rushing of the waves…

"Men om din längtan liknar min, så lägg ditt huvud nära mig och lyssna, lyssna hur havet sjunger."

(But if your longing is like mine, then rest your head near me, and listen, listen how the sea sings.)

I poured myself body and soul into the big crescendo.

"Det stora havet sjunger nära dig, nära mig. Det frågar inte efter ditt eller mitt, och vår rödaste önskan förbleknar."

(The great sea is singing close to you, close to me. It does not ask for what is yours, or what is mine, and our most fervent desire withers.)

The song was over. I nervously opened my eyes to see my father wiping away a tear.

After a minute, he spoke:

"Beautiful, Christine, beautiful… Thank you." His voice shook a little bit.

I went over to where he was sitting on the couch, and gave him a big hug.

When I pulled away, he said:

"Oh, and please, thank that teacher of yours for me, will you?"

I nodded, and left.

Once I got to my room, I collapsed on my bed, and there I cried for a little while.

Winter break is coming up, and I need to find a gift for Mr. Destler.