by Lauren Wynn
Malcolm lifts Summer’s frail body from the wheelchair and lays her in bed, placing two fluffed-up pillows under her head just as she likes. I can tell she’s worn out from the morning’s activities, but she gives me a big smile.
“You stayed,” she whispers in a thankful tone.
The country-blue upholstered chair screeches as I scoot it across the tile to her bedside so I can hold her hand. Heaviness takes over Summer’s eyelids, sliding them shut, welcoming her to a dream world of her own creation. This world replaces her pink winter hat with a pink headband complete with a crown of white polka-dotted bows. She dances, wearing a fancy pink tutu and black patent tap shoes, through a lush, green field leaping and spinning in full circles, feet off the ground, until she reaches a beautiful crystal clear, blue lake. She leans down and runs her index finger over the water’s surface, watching the ripples spread wider and wider. She peers at her reflection, focusing on her thick, long, blond hair, twirling the ends around her fingers, enjoying its silky volume. A smile of delight spreads across her face, gleaming from ear to ear. A gentle wind blows. She closes her eyes allowing the angel’s breath to surround her and whisk her away to greener pastures.
Summer sleeps for a few hours until the nurse Aci wakes her for a late lunch. When Aci sets the tray in front of her, I realize why Grant said I wouldn’t want to eat; it both looks and smells disgusting. The white lump of mashed potatoes most certainly came from something instant; the brown ground meat and green peas don’t resemble a get-well-soon meal. The one thing that does look somewhat appetizing is the lime jelly I bribed Aci to bring for her. I smile and point to the jelly and give her a thumbs-up. She nods in agreement and moves the peas with her fork to the farthest edge of her plate, having no intention of eating them. I leave her to her meal and promise to come back later to check on her.
Her color is starting to improve. The test results came back with a more favorable report than the doctor had hoped for. So, if she continues down this path, she’ll be able to go home on Friday, just as her mother said yesterday. And I hope so, for both their sakes.
Just after five o’clock, I peer back into the room of my favorite patient. Her mother is curled up beside her, one arm under her neck and the other across her stomach. Summer’s fully covered by the pink afghan her mom promised she would bring. They are watching Gilmore Girls, just as she wanted. I feel her tingle with warmth and serenity, the exact wave of relief she desired. Summer looks at me in the doorway, forces a wink that crinkles up the whole right side of her face, clearly new to the winking concept, and mouths, “Thank you!” before refocusing on the TV.
Though I’m sure to hear from her during her next treatment, I make a mental note to check on her now and then. I close my eyes. She will always have a place in my heart, my first caller.
The hallway somehow seems brighter than before as I head toward the nurse’s station to wave good-bye to Aci. Her tiny figure gets lost behind the taller, curved desk. She can’t be more than five feet tall and looks as though she used to be a gymnast, with thick muscular arms, but a youthful face and short, sunlit-brown, flat hair, slightly curled under, and just shy of, her shoulders.
I call the elevator and walk out the front door, just as any other guest that visits the children’s hospital.
The Funeral
Sitting on the wooden chair in my bedroom, I reflect on the first week of my assignment. I stare at the dingy brick wall and recall the events. I met the very cute little Summer, who wasn’t the slightest bit afraid of the fact that I was an angel, particularly once she found out I wasn’t taking her to heaven. My lessons learned from my visits with her: when in the hospital, only eat the lime jelly and if in doubt, cross your fingers. Wouldn’t Grant be proud? I’ll be sharing this with him tomorrow. I smile at the notion. It doesn’t help, but who am I to discourage it?
Remembering Providence’s amazing smile, I glance down at the pine flooring. Her fear and emptiness, the result of her less-than-perfect home life, triggers a hole in my chest to reopen. She prays frequently, so I see her almost daily, sometimes multiple times. I laugh. She isn’t afraid to give a little praise to the Big Man, especially after the opportunity to wait on her favorite customer, Chance.
Overall, not a bad start for week one, even though I haven’t clothed the naked or fed the hungry—possibly after another week with Leo…
It’s late, very late and I receive a call that takes me to the home of a teenage girl who just received the news that her father passed away of a heart attack. Her name is Avery. When I arrive she is sitting on the family’s beige couch, holding her little brother securely in her shaking arms. They are both sobbing. I feel the knot in her throat and the tightness build in her lungs as she heaves and tries to steal another deep breath before she is hit with the next wave of sobs. Her mother is across the room on the telephone, crying with comparable intensity.
I lay my golden hand on Avery’s shoulder and send a light of calm through my body to hers. It’s not enough to fill the hole that’s ripped within her but enough to calm her shaking and help her breathing. Slowly, her brother shows similar signs of relief, and his breathing settles as well.
This type of unexpected loss is the gut-wrenching kind Leo was referring to. Her chest tightens where the hole in her heart grows bigger. The moments pass, bringing her to the realization that she will never again see her father. She takes a couple deep breaths and lets out a low whimper as another stream of tears rolls down her red, blotchy cheeks.
I’m helpless. There is only so much I can do, and right now my objective is to calm her. I could give her a powerful surge of light, but it would only be temporary. She has to go through the stages of grief at some point, so it’s best for me to let it run its course without extreme intervention.
Her eyes are red and puffy with tears and anguish. She closes them in search of blackness, a numbing that only sleep will bring. She pulls her legs up onto the sofa, tugging her brother close. They shed a thousand more tears before they reach the point of exhaustion and finally fall asleep for the night.
At the edge of the couch I stand until I know they are both sleeping soundly. I transform long enough to find a blanket and cover them up. Before I leave, I listen closely up the stairs, hearing the last of her mother’s weary cries.
Outside, I stare at the front of their two-story house. It rests at the top of a small hill. The lower half of the house is dark-red brick. The top half is ivory aluminum siding. Five, now-dark windows are decorated with burgundy shutters. The front door is painted in the same welcoming burgundy shade. The winter weather leaves the trees bare, the plants brown, and flowers dormant. I imagine in the spring the landscaped yard appears colorful and lush.
They were so unsuspecting, I think. They had no time to prepare, if you can ever prepare for the loss of a family member.
I’ve never felt exhaustion before, but I’m quite certain this is exactly what it feels like: heavy eyelids, head spinning, and nauseous. I still feel Avery’s hollowness and her yearning to dissolve—anything to stop the suffering. I suddenly wish I had a bed to lie down in, just to be able to close my eyes and replenish the pool of light I transferred to her.
It’s a cool, starry night, and the full moon lights up the neighborhood more so than usual. I recall my first day in Cincinnati I looked up and saw a beautiful church sitting at the edge of the populated hillside, overlooking the downtown. I decide to spend the rest of the evening there. Appearing out of thin air, I walk up the hundred or so stairs that lead to the large gothic-style stone church. An illuminated white cross rests at the highest peak. I glance back at the stairs I just climbed and peer out over the skyline. The buildings light up the town below. I look around; no one in sight. The cold weather doesn’t bother me, but without a coat, it would cause someone passing by to question. Then again, it’s the middle of the night, so my being here would probably cause question regardless.
Just outside the front door of the church, I lie down on
the landing and stretch out on my back, arms propped under my head, my legs crossed. I look fixedly at the stars in the sky and remember those last moments before I made my descent to earth. In an attempt to take my mind off the day, I concentrate on the moon. Tilting my head this way and that, I dream up different images in the craters of the moon: a Santa Claus waving, a map of Asia, and a little boy playing a recorder.
I was taught what processes to follow, what to do, what not to do. I light up their darkness, repair their brokenness. But how do I manage the weight of their emotional load? It’s puzzling to me, their lingering burdens…
Lost in that thought, I notice the sun peeking up over the horizon. Shoot! I’m late.
I saunter over to Grant and Leo still processing the question of the evening: how do I manage the weight of their emotional load? They both smile, not at all irritated by my tardiness, no doubt due to the tense expression on my face. I share with them the events of my evening and ask the very question that has occupied every corner of my mind for the past few hours, despite knowing it may cause Grant to flinch.
And just as I suspected, Grant flinches and says, “You won’t always have those feelings; they will dissipate over time. But you need to replenish your light too. Otherwise your duty will get the best of you.”
Wanting more, I look at Leo, but he just nods in concurrence. The light I can replenish, but I don’t want to disconnect from them or their emotions, no matter how burdensome they may be for me. This is what I was created for. Visions of Summer, Avery, and Providence flash across my mind. I’ll find the strength.
At home, I pick out my nicest navy-blue suit and matching light-blue tie for the visitation.
There are a hundred people lined up outside the funeral home this afternoon to pay their respects to Avery and her family, myself included. I shake her little brother’s hand, along with the hands of her mother, grandparents, and many, many friends of her father. Everyone shares stories about times when he touched their lives. I meander through the many rooms of the funeral home, noticing the number of chairs that line the walls and the Puffs tissue boxes on each end table with small wicker wastebaskets underneath.
Avery breezes quickly past and heads out the back door. I follow her. She’s sits her thin but athletically framed body down on the back stoop with a wad of tissues in her hand and bawls. I sit down next to her, put my arm over her shoulder, and pull her close to me. She leans her head on my shoulder. She doesn’t even look up to see who is comforting her; she just accepts it and continues weeping. After several minutes, she blows her nose, takes three deep breaths, and exhales with a low groan.
“I’m so sorry,” she says. “Here, I don’t even know you and I’ve gone and snotted-up your nice suit.”
“No worries. Nothing the dry cleaner can’t get out.” I give a slight grin.
“What’s your name, anyway. I don’t think we’ve met before?”
“My name is Zan.” I reach out to shake her hand, which is still filled with balled-up tissues.
“Zan, interesting name…nice to meet you. I’m Avery. Did you know my dad?”
“Not exactly.” I glance around unsure of where I’m taking this from here. “I’m more here for…you.”
“Me? Why? Did someone send you, from school or something?” She looks at me, perplexed, and runs her shaky hand through her shoulder-length, light-brown hair.
I pause for a moment, trying to figure out exactly how I’m going to tell her that I’m an angel, here to help her get through the death of her father. Man, this is a tough one. A how-to book really would have come in handy about now. Summer was so easy. She already knew who, what, I am, but Avery genuinely doesn’t know, at least not that I can tell, based on her thoughts that I’m able to sift through.
“I heard your father passed. I was sent by the church, so to speak.” I look away beyond the strip of grass onto the parking lot at the back of the funeral home.
“‘So to speak’—what does that even mean?” Her voice rises a bit and she squints her inquiring eyes at me.
“You called me, Avery. Last night when you were on your couch hugging your brother, you were praying to God to help you through this, and, well, He sent me.”
Someone comes to the back door and opens it, but before they can say anything, Avery yells and holds up her hand. “Five minutes. I need five more minutes.” And the door closes behind us without question.
“Wait. What? You were there? What the…?” This is crazy. Is it not enough that I have to deal with my dad’s death, now this…this nut job.
“Yes, I was. I’m sure this is overwhelming, but I assure you… I’m not here to harm.” I look right into her watery blue eyes and open my arms wide as if to prove I have nothing to hide.
She whispers almost to herself, “Overwhelming! I was overwhelmed before you showed up.” Crack-head. She pauses and takes another deep breath before looking me in the eye. “I have to go. I just can’t do this now.” Her round cheeks are flushed. She looks down at the ground, stands up, and starts to open the backdoor. She looks me over from head to toe once more before thinking, A “being” sent from God, umm…doubtful. Nut job! Good-looking, I’ll give him that. Not too creepy. Teal-green eyes like I’ve never seen before. I wonder where I can find contacts like that. Avery turns her back toward me and slams the door.
Well, that could have gone better. I’m definitely going to have to polish up my delivery for my next caller. Man alive. I shake my head, disappointed with myself, and saunter off. She’s made it plenty clear she isn’t ready to see me yet.
In my room I strip out of my now snotted-up suit and change into something a bit more comfortable. My favorite loose-fitting jeans with the frayed ankles, my long-sleeve, gray cotton T-shirt, and Nikes seem to be just what I need, given my day so far.
Avery’s voice calls out, “God, please just help me get through my speech tonight. I don’t want to look like a blubbering fool in front of my friends and family. I know that’s normal for these types of occasions, but I’d just prefer to keep my blubbering to a minimum in public, please,” she says in a begging tone.
Awesome, I think sarcastically. I’ll go, but clearly the best approach for this case is to remain unnoticed. I shake my head and smirk. I’m not sure I can handle being called a “crack-head” twice in one day.
Avery makes her way to the front of the living room. The red-brick fireplace rises up behind her. She fidgets, standing before a room full of family and friends to share a few words about her father. She clears her throat several times and looks around the room at all the faces in the crowd: her mom, her best friend, her “almost” boyfriend. I can feel the knot build in her throat, constricting, making it hard for her to breathe. A panic-stricken look crosses her reddened face. Her eyes glaze over. She begins to turn around to run into the kitchen, but before she can, I place my radiant hand on her upper back and send my light to her. She blinks a few times rapidly to get rid of the fog and takes a deep breath, and the redness clears from her face. She swallows loudly and looks up at the ceiling. Thanks, she thinks, and begins her speech.
Throughout her entire speech, I stay with my radiant hand placed on her back, palm flat. Her mom, best friend, and “almost” boyfriend hug her and tell her how great she did. They’re right. She did—with a little angelic intervention. Finally. Something positive for the day, or should I say week? I’m feeling pretty pleased with myself about now. No worries. I’ll give myself a good pat on the back later.
Once free from them, Avery races out the back door. I follow her again, the streak of my glow fading as I move, only visible to me (which is good). We don’t need to have that conversation again.
When I reach the backdoor, I hear “Zan, Zan, are you out here?” in a loud whisper.
Super! I didn’t see this one coming. So I just wait. I stand there and wait for her to say something else.
Staring into the darkness of the night, she whispers, “Okay, so I know this is totally crazy, but
I felt you in there, like you had my back. And I know I don’t deserve it after how I treated you today. I mean, don’t get me wrong, this is awesome, but I didn’t think God would really send someone for me…I’m sorry.” This is probably stupid, I’m probably imagining things, but just in case…
She stands still for a moment and then looks both ways, peering deep into the shadows behind the house, the bushes, and says, “Well…thank you. I want you to know I appreciate it, and sorry I called you a nut-job.” She lowers her head, shamefully, and turns, ready to walk back inside.
At the corner of the house I appear in a shadow, “You’re welcome. The gift of grace. Oh, and I accept your apology for calling me a crack-head too,” I say just loud enough for her to hear and laugh. She turns toward my voice, and I give her a quick wink.
She looks at me in near disbelief, wondering if I’ve been standing here all along, though certain I haven’t since she looked over here more than once.
This is unbelievable. Surely I didn’t call him a crack-head out loud, did I? “Well…umm…thanks. Oh…Zan…you were in there just now, right?” I mean I couldn’t see you, but I felt something…
“Yes.” I nod. “I placed my hand on your back while you were speaking.”
“Oh, so you literally had my back then.” She chuckles. “Ummm…so…can I ask you a question?”
“Certainly.”
“Is my dad here too?”
I look down at the ground, shake my head, and move some mulch around with the tip of my shoe. She’s worried. I can feel cramping in her stomach and her heart beats faster.
“No, Avery. He’s not here. He moved on already. Heaven’s already received him.” A mammoth-sized tear glistens in the moonlight as it slides down her cheek.
“Oh, well…he would have liked to meet you,” she says, disappointed. Her mind scrolls through a hundred questions, but all she says is, “I’m gonna head…” She aims her thumb over her shoulder toward the door.
