Trans siberian orchestra the lost christmas eve free download

The sorrow within the tear was so great, that though it desperately wanted to stay with her to give whatever comfort it could, the weight of the pain it contained eventually caused it to fall Click here to continue reading the story behind "The Lost Christmas Eve".

The Lost Christmas Eve Let it go! Raise your voices! All as one On this Christmas Day! All rejoice Raise your voices! All rejoice Anno Domine! Monday 26 July Tuesday 27 July Wednesday 28 July Thursday 29 July Friday 30 July Saturday 31 July Sunday 1 August Monday 2 August Tuesday 3 August Wednesday 4 August Thursday 5 August Friday 6 August Saturday 7 August Sunday 8 August Monday 9 August Tuesday 10 August Wednesday 11 August Thursday 12 August Friday 13 August Saturday 14 August Sunday 15 August Monday 16 August Tuesday 17 August Wednesday 18 August Thursday 19 August Friday 20 August Saturday 21 August Sunday 22 August Monday 23 August Tuesday 24 August Wednesday 25 August Thursday 26 August Friday 27 August Saturday 28 August Sunday 29 August Monday 30 August Tuesday 31 August Wednesday 1 September Thursday 2 September Friday 3 September Saturday 4 September Sunday 5 September Monday 6 September Tuesday 7 September Wednesday 8 September Thursday 9 September Friday 10 September Saturday 11 September Sunday 12 September Monday 13 September Tuesday 14 September Wednesday 15 September Thursday 16 September Friday 17 September Mobile Number.

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Submit Later. Profile Successfully Updated. This Email ID is already registered. She also told him that at the present time, he was now living in a boarding house hotel, uptown in the Bronx. The man slowly closed his phone and then stepping into the street, hailed down a passing cab the first empty one he had seen all night. As the cabby started the meter, the businessman gave him directions to the Bronx hotel.

Arriving there, he went inside and asked the night clerk for his son's room number. The clerk told him that his son was not in because he had not yet returned from work. When the father replied that this was impossible, the obviously tired clerk told him that he was not here to debate the fact. His son, he continued, worked around the corner at the city hospital. With a mixture of confusion, anticipation and nervousness, the father walked around the corner where the hospital information desk confirmed that his son did work on the seventh floor.

Taking the elevator up, he was surprised to find the floor marked, "Maternity. Asking the nurse on duty for his son, she told him that she was just starting her rounds and if the father wished she would be glad to show him the way. After a short walk, she pushed open one of the double doors at the end of a long hall to reveal a large, cavernous, dimly lit and seemingly empty room.

As he glanced to the left he noticed several incubators glowing in the darkness, each containing a frail, shivering newborn, each obviously in incredible pain. Seeing the look of shock appearing in the man's expression, the nurse quickly explained that this was the hospital's crack ward. This room was reserved for newborns whose mothers were addicted to this highly potent form of cocaine.

These infants were always born premature, underweight and in complete withdrawal from the second they left the womb. Even more unfortunately, they were unable to give the infants anything to ease their intense pain because they were still so fragile.

When the man then asked what his son did here, the nurse nodded towards the right far corner of the room. Because of the darkness he had not noticed the individual's presence before, but he now saw a large man, whose face looked exactly like his own, only twentysome years younger.

His son was sitting in a rocking chair, holding a trembling, crying infant that he was gently rocking back and forth while whispering soothing "shhh" like sounds to it.

Noticing the slightly confused look in the father's eyes, the nurse then went on to explain how if her work in medicine had taught her anything, it was no matter who you are, if you are rich or poor, weak or strong, we all need to be held at least twice in our lives. Once when we are born and once more when we leave.

Holding these infants was his son's job and he was the best they had ever had at this hospital. He had been coming there everyday for years. Everyday he would hold these infants rocking them back and forth until they fell asleep in his arms. He would never leave until each and every child was peacefully resting.

In all the time that she had been working there she had never known him to take even one day off. Which was why on this night, Christmas Eve, when nearly everyone who could have gone home for the night, had done so, his son was still there.

The father felt his entire world once again collapsing before his eyes as he stared at the son that he had abandoned for not being born in God's image. He now saw this son, consoling the inconsolable, healing the hopeless. This son so clearly reflecting the infinite compassion and mercy of God was obviously so much more in the image of God than himself, the great athlete, the intellectual, the successful businessman. The nurse could see the father was choking back a flood of emotions.

She started to excuse herself so that they could be alone but the father stopped her and asked hopefully if his son could yet speak. Realizing that it had obviously been a great deal of time since this man had last seen his son, she softly whispered, "No, but he is a great listener.

The space between the two men which could have easily been measured in yards, now seemed to stretch into infinity. He could not conceive of a way to approach this man, his son, whose existence he had denied for all these years as unworthy of being his son.

Would his son recognize him? Would he hate him for having abandoned him? Then through a window, for the briefest of moments, he thought he saw the outline of his wife's face appear in the still falling snow. Slowly, he started to move across the room.

When he reached the rocking chair, his son looked up at him and then glanced at a picture propped up on the windowsill next to him. It was a picture of his father and his mother at the age of nineteen when they had first met.

It was also apparent from the wear and tear on the folder that his son had carried it with him his entire life. The picture was also worn and cracked and one could tell that he must have held it countless times. After looking at the picture and then back at his father, the son's face broke into a huge smile, a smile of pure love and forgiveness, a smile that held no animosity or hatred for past wrongs, only joy that his father was there now.

The father found himself smiling back and after a few awkward seconds, he turned, went across the room to the incubators and picked up one of the trembling infants.