by Thornton, EJ
Right on queue, Sheila appeared by my side and took my hand. I looked at her and at George bewildered. It was all strange, sad and wonderful.
"This is the hardest part, Dad," Sheila said. "So we have to be closer than ever for a while. They'll be fine; we'll take care of them." All the angels circled around them. We all joined hands and prayed for their faith to give them an abundance of strength, courage and compassion during this time of transition.
After a bit, Glory and Sarah did the things that needed to be done. They went down to the living room and called the police to report the death. George made sure that my cousin Terrance received the call at the station. He came right over and handled it all, to make it easier on her.
I watched as Sheila played games with her sister Sarah and tried to make her smile. Sheila went over to Sarah and whispered in her ear to watch Terrance. Sheila made Terrance's pen slip out of his hand. It looked like he dropped it. She helped the pen on the way to the floor, instead of letting it fall on the floor, she tucked it into the cuff of his pants.
"Where did that thing go?" Terrance turned around to see where it had dropped. He turned around again and again quickly and lost his balance. He fell back over the arm of the recliner. He just sat there, with his legs in the air, as the pen stared him in the face. "Hmmm. There it is," he announced and got up without missing a beat.
Sarah covered her mouth trying to hold in a laugh determined to come out. Terrance scratched his head and looked at her. She quickly looked high at the ceiling. The lightness of that moment helped for a moment.
Sheila flew back over to me. She brushed Terrance's neck on the way by. "What'dya think of that?" Sheila asked, while Terrance rubbed his neck.
"What are you doing?" I sounded like I was going to punish her for something she had pulled, like she was twelve again.
"I'm getting their minds off this for a second or two. Wanna try?"
It felt like this was a Saturday afternoon long past and she had just run back to the house after discovering another one of her many treasures, excited to share it with everyone in the family.
"What do I do?" I asked.
She looked around. I looked around. All the angels in the room were smiling, watching us spend time together again.
"First, figure out who you want to touch. Pick Sarah, she's lost in a daze right now and she's alone. Now think, what would be special, that's just between the two of you?"
I looked around the room for something that was a special connection between Sarah and me. There was the macram hanger that she had made for Glory and me for our last wedding anniversary and in it, the plant she had rooted from a cutting from one of her mother's plants. That was it. I went over to it. "This," I said to Sheila.
"Nice choice," she said and smiled. "Now, very subtly, softly and slowly, swing it. But first, let me get her attention focused on it." She sat next to Sarah and put her arm around her sister. "Dad's over by the plant you gave him. He wants to let you know he's all right." Sheila stared at the plant and a light from her eyes encompassed the plant, making it crystal clear, but everything else around it fuzzy. Soon all I could see was the plant. "Okay, Dad, now go."
"I love you, Sarah," I said as I pushed on the pot. It swung back and forth for a few seconds. Sarah's dazed eyes came into sharp focus around the plant and she shifted in her chair. She looked around again and then relaxed back into the couch.
"I love you too, Dad," she whispered and rubbed the chill bumps that had just raised on her arms. She sighed slightly and soon after that she dozed off to brief sleep.
I was fixated on the plant.
Sheila joined me. "That was nice," she kissed me on the cheek.
"Yeah." I stood there and admired my sleeping daughter, while I held tight to her sister.
"Angel Light," Sheila said. "I used Angel Light."
"Angel Light," George said and came to join us by the plant. "If there's something we want someone to see, we stand by them and stare at it until it's all that we can see. A glow comes over it and we call that glow Angel Light."
Terrance left momentarily to call in the details of the situation from his patrol car. Glory stood at the bay window in the living room and stared into space. Her arms were folded in front of her and she rubbed them like she was cold. The sun peeked over the distant mountains on the horizon.
"Let's paint the sunrise, Dad," Sheila said.
"How do we do that?" I asked.
"Imagine the sky is a painter's canvas," Sheila said. "Mama loves pinks. Let's give it lots of pinks." Sheila waved her hand slowly up in the air towards the horizon and the hues over and all around it gradually turned into beautiful shades of pink.
I followed her lead, "Lots of thin, whispy clouds." I imagined the clouds and waved my hands as Sheila had and to my amazement, the clouds gradually formed just as I had imagined them. They reflected the pinks vibrantly.
"Mama will like this," she said.
I walked over to Glory and put my arms around her, like I always did when we'd look out the window together. "We did that for you, do you like it?" I whispered in her ear.
"What a beautiful sunrise," she said and sighed. "I wish you could see it, Martin."
"I can," I said softly.
"I know you can. You're probably seeing lots of people and things right now." Another tear streamed down her cheek.
"I'll be here for you forever. I'm right here now and I'll always love you." I wanted to stay until I was sure she had heard me.
Sheila interrupted us. "Dad, it's time to go now."
Glory's angel took over for me at the window.
"Martin, we need to get her some more help," George said.
"Of course, Vivian!" I said. I instantly knew who he meant!
Vivian was Glory's best friend in the world; Glory needed her here. Quicker than a heartbeat, we were in Vivian's bedroom. The angel network was already at work. Vivian was wide-awake. She paced up and down her bedroom floor.
"She knows there's something wrong with Glory, but she's afraid to call because it's so early and she's hoping she's imagining things," Vivian's angel, Goldie, explained.
Viv looked so worried. She paced back and forth with her arms folded, just like Glory. It was as if she could feel what Glory felt.
"Just go over there," Viv's husband softly said. "If there's something wrong, you'll know. If all is well then, just take her out for a cup of coffee; you know she's always up with the sun."
"You're right, you're right," she said to her husband and started to get dressed.
I must've looked puzzled, because George then explained, "Close friends have an unspoken bond. Their angels are as close as the friends themselves. It enhances the beauty of the friendship."
"So Vivian knows something is wrong because she can sense what Glory feels?"
"That, and her angel told her that she needs to go to Glory. Between those two things, she woke up worried, tense, almost frantic. She's confused about where these feelings are coming from, so she doubts the validity of them."
"So she knows what it is?" I was in awe!
"No, she only knows how upset she feels and that it must be something big. She can only guess at possibilities. If she just trusted in her intuition, she'd zero right in on what's wrong."
Vivian dressed hurriedly, put her hair in a scarf and kissed her husband and said, "I'll call you in a little bit."
"Viv, she's all right," he said, trying to comfort her.
"Let's hope so," she said and raced out of the room, down to the garage, started the car and drove off to see Glory.
We followed her. As Viv drove up to the house, she saw the police car outside. "I knew it!" She stopped and jumped out of the car. She left her purse and everything inside. She ran up to the house and knocked hard on the door.
Glory came to the door, her face tear-stained. "It's Martin," she said. "He's gone." With that Mama fell onto her friend and the tears exploded anew. Vivian stood there, held Glory tight and cried, too. All the angels in
the house gathered around them and prayed for their continued faith, strength and courage.
Chapter 3
"It hurts to see her in such pain," I told George.
"You've done a good job getting her the help she needed."
"I want to do more. I wish I could show her that I'm okay. I wish I could tell her all about seeing Mother and Dad and Sheila again. I wish I could make her understand how close I really am and how wonderful this all is."
"I know."
"But you know what I wish most?" I asked him. He listened intently. "I wish I'd have known how close you were to me when I was alive on earth. Angels! Angels are everywhere, all the time. I thought they were God's messengers on extraordinary occasions, but I was so wrong. Being a minister all those years, you'd think I'd have known better. I have so much to learn."
"We all do," George agreed.
"You hear the stories of the incredible events in people's lives and you know that the Lord and his angels were hard at work. But you, you were there every day? You had to have been! You were there every day of my life."
"I never left you unprotected."
"You know what? I want to look in on the rest of my family, before they hear about my death. I want to catch them one last time, without them knowing. Is that possible?"
"All things are possible, Martin." He looked to Heaven and smiled.
I thought of my youngest son, Peter. Instantly, we were in his house, with him and his family. To them, it was the beginning of a normal day. The children got ready for school. The baby was at the table with his breakfast. My son helped his daughters gather their schoolbooks by the front door. Angels were everywhere, helping everyone with everything. The one around my grandson made faces and blew kisses. There seemed to be actual interaction.
"Can the baby see his angel?" I asked.
"The angel is distracting him. The baby leaned over too far in the high chair. He would have fallen. But his angel showed himself to him, caught his attention and saved him from falling. He's only visible to the baby. Even so, he'll be invisible again when someone comes back into the room. The angel probably quit doing that when he's old enough to speak, but while he's this little, it happens frequently. Angels love to play with babies and babies love to play with angels. Look over there." George motioned at my granddaughter. "She's looking for her other shoe. Her angel knows where it is. Let's see how long it takes her to listen."
I watched as her angel whispered in her ear, "It's under your bed. It's under your bed." Her mom asked where she'd left it, when she'd seen it last. Poor darling had trouble thinking straight under all that Hurry-up-you're-late-for-school pressure. My granddaughter finally sat down on the stairs, put her face in her hands, rocked, and started to softly cry. Her mother threw her hands up about the whole issue and went to get the baby out of the high chair. When it was all quiet for the girl, her angel said again, "It's under your bed."
Like it was her own idea, my granddaughter got up, went into her room, looked under her bed and found the shoe, then ran out of the room and yelled, "I found it!"
"Praise the Lord!" her mother said. The angel nodded in recognition of what was said, smiled and went out the door to school with her charge.
I wanted Peter to know how much I loved him. I went over to my son and sat next to him on the couch. "I love you so much. I'm so proud of you and if I had to do it all over again, the only thing I'd change is to love you more."
He sighed and sat back, looking out into space and gave a slight smile. Just then, the phone rang.
"Who's that this early?" he asked his wife, who shrugged her shoulders.
Peter answered the phone. "Hello?" There was a pause. His knees buckled. His wife, Melinda, ran over to him and he put his arm around her. She held him tight.
"Is Mama all right? . . . We'll be there as soon as we can . . . Okay . . . Okay . . . I love you, too. Take care of Mama until we get there. Bye."
He hung up the phone and all of us angels gathered around them and prayed for their strength as he told his wife of my death.
"I was just thinking about him too," he said. "How coincidental is that?" Their eyes met and stayed. "Yeah, I know," he bit his lower lip. "Dad, wherever you are. I hope you know how much I love you. I'll make sure Mama is okay." Then he broke down, buried his head on his wife's shoulder and cried.
After a few minutes, he suddenly jerked his head up, panic-stricken. "I've got to find Jeremi! Did he come home last night?" My other son, Jeremi--short for Jeremiah--lived with Peter and his wife, but unfortunately, he drank far too much. "Jeremi, where would you be about now? Hmmm."
Peter thought for a moment, then he rushed out the door.
Chapter 4
"Where is Jeremi?" I asked George.
"Just think about him and you'll find him," he replied. So I did. The next thing I knew, we were in a stranger's house. But, sure enough, there was right Jeremi, passed out on the couch, snoring, with a half-full beer bottle about to spill on his lap and a cigarette butt that had burned out in his hand.
"Holy cow!" I exclaimed. George gave a disappointed look of recognition. Jeremi's angel was there, his great Uncle Henry, on my father's side. Henry was glad to see us.
"Martin!" We embraced, then he looked back at Jeremi.
Henry turned somber. "He's drinking more now than ever. I'm so frustrated with the way he ignores all my help. Getting through to him now will be a challenge and it'll probably take a little while or else some intervention. What do you want to do?"
I looked at George for guidance. "We need to get Peter over here." George left.
This was the first time since I'd died that George had left my side. I looked over at Henry.
Henry looked tired. He was the first sad angel I'd ever seen."How long has he been like this?" I asked him, referring to Jeremi's condition.
"Well, tonight, about two hours, but you know this has been going on for years. He's getting worse and worse. The alcohol has won him away from me." He looked at Jeremi and shook his head in despair and frustration.
I looked around the room. There were a lot of tired angels in this room. Then I realized that there were many more people in this room than there were angels. Puzzled by this, I looked to Henry.
"Some of their angels have quit."
"Quit? Angels can quit?" I was astounded.
"If your charge does something that offends the very nature of your soul, you have the angelic prerogative of quitting. It's a monumental step and angel rarely do it, but when an angel has lost all positive effectiveness, they need to move on to some other charge, whose life they can effect in a positive way. For example, someone who's committed murder or someone who hates indiscriminately and teaches others to hate for arbitrary reasons, they lose their angels. Things like that. It can be that dramatic or sometimes, they just slip slowly away . . . I hope you understand what I mean."
A knock on the door interrupted our conversation. George, Peter, and his angel, William, were back with us. Some young lady got up, stumbled to the door, squinted enough to see Peter. She let him in and pointed to the couch where Jeremi was, then stumbled back to the chair she'd been in and went back to sleep.
Peter went over to Jeremi and shook his shoulder. "Jeremi, bro, come on, wake up man, it's important!" Jeremi's snoring ceased briefly, but then it started back up again. "Jeremi!" Peter said louder. That accidentally woke up a couple of the other sleepers around him. They grumbled back "Shhhh!" and held their heads. Peter ignored them and shook Jeremi by the shoulders a little harder - nothing. Peter took the beer away and pulled the cigarette butt out of his hand, put Jeremi's arm over his shoulder, dragged him out of the house and laid him out on the front lawn. We all went with him.
"He needs some help," Henry said.
Almost immediately, a spray from the neighbor's sprinkler got caught on Henry's breath--or a surprise gust of wind, depending on perspective. The water landed right in Jeremi's face. He woke up, mumbled, cussed and tried to figure out
where he was.
Henry came back and said curtly, "He needed that."
George, William and I laughed so loud I thought for a moment Peter heard us. Peter laughed a little bit, too. He looked to the sky and said, "Thanks!"
Henry replied emphatically, "You are welcome!"
"Wake up, bro, it's important! Are you with me, man?" Peter insisted.
"What do you want?" Jeremi was indignant and held his head to protect his hangover.
"Jeremi, it's important. Look at me."
I could tell Jeremi heard the seriousness of Peter's tone and likely remembered the same tone when we lost Sheila. Jeremi's indignant behavior turned somber and he looked at Peter. "What is it?"
"Dad passed," Peter sat on the grass next to him.
"Oh God! Oh God!" Jeremi yelled, and stared at Peter in disbelief.
Peter put his hand on his brother's shoulder. "He died peacefully in his sleep last night. Sarah just called. She and Viv are with Mama right now. They want us to get there as soon as possible."
Jeremi nodded, then held his head, as much to hide his tears as to protect his hangover. "We just lost Sheila, now Dad too. It's too soon. This is too much." He swallowed hard. "I need a drink."
I was overwhelmed! He'd always put on an act for me. I knew it was an act, but this reality was far worse than I'd imagined. I turned to Henry. "He's in bad shape." Henry nodded in agreement. My heart sank. "Is there anything we can do?"
"What would you do?"
I thought for a moment, shook my head, shrugged my shoulders, turned away from Henry and went to go hold my sons.
"C'mon, man, we gotta clean you up before Mama sees you."
I walked between them so that I could put my arms on both my boys' shoulders. I walked with them back to Peter's car and rode with them back to the house. Jeremi buried his face in his hands the whole way. Peter drove silently, occasionally putting his arm around his brother.
I was the lone angel in the car with them. George, Henry and William were somewhere else. This time alone with them was nice. I sat between them with my arms around both of them. I whispered, "I love you both." It was the only time Jeremi looked up, then he sighed and buried his head again. Peter sighed and a tear rolled down his cheek.
