Angel On Board - Guardian Angel 101

by Thornton, EJ

  Jeremi realized that nobody was looking, so he went out to the garage. He opened the spare refrigerator and started to root around. He quickly found what he was looking for, a beer. He checked around again to make sure he was alone. He opened the beer and gulped several swallows. Then he let out a big "Ahhhh."

  "Dad would've put that out in the garage," I heard Peter say, as he opened up the door. Jeremi stashed the beer can in the door of the refrigerator and pretended to be looking for something else. "What you're looking for is already opened and in the door of the fridge, Jeremi."

  "There you go again, jumping to conclusions. I just needed something to steady my nerves. We're back here, at another funeral, give me a break - please." Jeremi tried to divert attention away from himself.

  Peter got right in his face and said, "Mama needs us more than she ever has in her life. Your drinking has to stop - especially now! Even if she had the strength to deal with it right now, I'd make you get a grip on yourself and think of someone else for a change."

  "Damn, it's just a beer! Like you never took a drink," Jeremi defended himself, the way he usually did by attacking someone else.

  "At nine in the morning?" Peter turned his back on Jeremi, to find what he had come in for. He grabbed a book off the bookcase, gave Jeremi one last warning glare, took a deep breath, shook his head and went back inside the house.

  Then, as if to spite him, Jeremi picked up the beer and chugged the rest of it down. He put the empty can in the garbage can under a potato chip bag that was on top. He pulled a breath mint out of his pocket, chewed it up quickly, tested his breath and went back inside, too.

  "What are we going to do with him?" I asked George.

  "This is going to be tough on you. But things you have to work hard for, you appreciate more," he reassured me. I nodded and we went back inside.

  The rest of the morning flew by. The visitors unpacked. Phone calls from friends came into the house, one after the other. The callers all wanted to know what they could do for the family. People from the church dropped by with casseroles or vegetable trays. Each wished it was more. They hugged Glory and told her how wonderful I was. They'd usually pass along a special story we shared. They laughed and cried and left, then the next one came. Each person visiting Glory had an angel who visited with me. They talked to me about their relationship to their charge. Then they told me about a time that they got George to influence me in some way. Some were the sermon topics I picked, that spoke right to the heart of a problem their charges had. Some were Bible verses to quote, hymns to sing or calls to make because the angels were making their charges weigh heavily on my heart.

  I wish I had paid more attention to the little things that happened all around me everyday; I might've been able to appreciate these angels at work. It's funny, too, I remembered perfectly every detail these angels described. If I'd been alive, the details would have been fuzzy. As an angel, my memory was perfectly clear. It was a wondrous gift to have all that back.

  Early in the afternoon, Vivian, Glory and Peter left to make the funeral arrangements. That left Sarah, Jeremi, Melinda and the children home to take care of things there. I went with Glory and her party to meet with my associate pastor Brother Hamilton at the funeral home. I watched as Glory and Peter picked out my casket. It was dignified, with a white satin lining. Then they picked my favorite hymns to sing, "Blest Be the Tie That Binds" and "How Great Thou Art." Peter would give the eulogy. They planned the nicest service. It comforted me to know how well they knew what I wanted. On the way out, Peter and Vivian helped a crying Glory to the car. I'm sure she was very grateful to have Peter's strong arm to lean on and a faithful friend she could always count on. Their angels flew above them in a circle of protection.

  George and I went ahead of them, back to the house, where Jeremi and Sarah visited and the kids watched TV.

  "How did you meet her?" Sarah asked.

  "At the pub. She comes in to sing a couple times a week."

  "Does she sing very well?"

  Jeremi thought for a moment, with an impish grin. "She sings these 'I hate men' songs, and she really gets into them."

  "Is she any good?" Sarah rephrased the question.

  Jeremi nodded. "If she's rehearsed, yeah. If it's the first time she's sung it, I go outside for a cigarette."

  "Can you smoke in the bar?"

  "Yup," Jeremi answered, giving her a look like, 'You know what I'm saying?'

  "Oh, that's cold!" Sarah went over to him and smacked him on the shoulder. "So, if she hates men so much, why is she seeing you?"

  "She's just beginning a divorce from this guy she was married to for eight years. She said he never appreciated her singing in the house, so she quit singing for all those years and she's getting all her frustrations out by singing them out now. You should see her face when she does it, though." He shivered and made this really odd face, where he stuck his lip out awkwardly. "Lord have mercy!" he said and they both laughed.

  "Kids?" Sarah asked.

  "Yeah, two great kids, little girls. They're cute. The baby calls me 'Emi.' I've only seen them a couple of times, but they are really sweet little girls." Jeremi got a distant look in his eyes. "Oh man! I've got to call her."

  "You left town without calling her? You dog!" Sarah slapped him on the shoulder again.

  "Where's the phone?" He looked around in a panic.

  "Where it always is," Sarah said.

  Jeremi went out to the living room and dialed the phone. "Hey, baby," he said quietly. "I meant to call you last night. Something's happened; I'm at my parents house . . . Yes. My father had a heart attack and died." He started to choke up a little. Then he swallowed hard. "Thanks. . . I know. . . Yeah, I'll be fine. Everybody's here. . . Yeah, I flew in with them. . . This morning. . . I'm fine, really. Listen, I had this dream, it was incredible. I'll tell you about it later. . . A few days at least. . . Okay, I'll call you then. . . I've got to go now. . . You, too. Give the girls a kiss for me. g'bye."

  "You in trouble?" Sarah asked her brother after he got off the phone.

  "It's okay, she understood."

  "Let's figure something to do with all this food for dinner tonight," Sarah changed the subject on him. They looked over the casseroles and picked three of their favorites and popped them in the oven to warm. Jeremi combined a couple of the vegetable and cheese trays into a pretty centerpiece on the table.

  They cleaned up the kitchen and I smiled wide as I heard Sarah recite the old table-setting poem we taught her when she was about five. "'Fork' has four letters and it goes left of the plate. 'Left' has four letters, that's why this is great! 'Right' has five letters. So does 'knife' and 'spoon' too! God named the silverware to make it easy for you!" Before she could say it three times, the table was set for a beautiful family dinner.

  Glory and Peter were still gone. Apparently, they'd stopped to take Vivian home.

  By the time they made it back, dinner was about ready. Glory came into the kitchen, hugged Sarah and Jeremi and said, "Thank you."

  Sarah asked, "Are you all right, Mama?"

  "Yeah, yeah, I'm all right," she answered, sounding anything but.

  Sarah and Melinda rounded everyone up for dinner. The kids washed their hands and the adults came in to help serve. Jeremi ushered his mama to her seat at the right of the head of the table. As everyone sat down, all the seats were taken, except for the head of the table, my seat. Nobody wanted to sit there at this meal, so I did. It was beautiful to look around the table and see all my family together, even though their faces were strained.

  Glory asked Peter to say the blessing, in which he thanked God that they were all together, loving and supporting one another in this time of mourning. To which everyone said, "Amen!" or "Yes, Lord!"

  Since it was crowded, the angels went small and each took a position on or near their charge. Sheila came, too. She worked hard to get Sarah's attention. As soon as she did, she flitted from one person to the next and gave them a kiss and wh
ispered, "I love you" in their ears. Each person reacted by either itching the cheek she kissed or brushing their hair back away from their ears. Sarah watched everyone down the line, all around the table, react in rapid succession, like a drill team doing a staggered maneuver. By the time the fourth person did something peculiar, her eyes were big. By the fifth, her jaw dropped, where it stayed until Sheila made her way around the table to her. When Sarah's hand went to her own cheek, she jumped away from it, with enough force to knock Peter's elbow, spilling the water he was about to drink right into his lap.

  Sheila said to both Peter and Sarah, "That was fun! I got you both." Then she came and sat with me to watch what happened next.

  Peter's children watched and waited to see if he was going to get mad at Aunt Sarah for spilling his water on him. He was just about to get indignant, when he realized his audience and caught himself. It took a few seconds before he laughed, but then everyone followed suit. He got up calmly and went to the bathroom. He muttered and chuckled slightly to himself.

  Everyone looked at her. She said, "Sorry," and shrugged her shoulders. Normal conversation eventually resumed.

  I shook my head at Sheila. "Did you have fun?" I asked with an innocent tone.

  She smiled and said, "You know I did!" We all laughed again.

  The more the angels laughed, the lighter the mood at the table became. Slowly the smiles came back to their faces and the pleasure of being together as a family was felt all around. The adults, who had only picked at their food, started to eat. Every now and again, someone looked my way and all they saw was an empty chair. The angel of that person pointed out the sad face of their charge to someone nearby who then comforted the sad one. Everyone and every angel made a great effort to keep the mood light and loving. It was one of the best dinners I'd ever had with my family.

  The remainder of the evening passed in much the same manner. Everyone was there to support one another. Each had their moments, when the reason that they were all together overcame them. We angels made sure that everyone had a shoulder to cry on, strength to draw from and love to share.

  Chapter 9

  After everyone had gone to bed, I went to check on my new family. I wanted to put them to bed for the night, too. When I showed up, the girls were in their rooms, fast asleep. Jeannie was in her bed already. She was writing something, lost in thought.

  "What's going on, Pearl?" I asked her angel.

  "She misses Jeremi, so she's writing him a poem."

  "She writes poetry?" I asked, don't know why that surprised me, I could see her creativity everywhere..

  "She wrote a lot when she was younger, this is the first time in years she's even tried."

  Another angel entered the room. He looked over Jeannie's shoulder and read what she had written so far. "I like it," he said to her. Then he came over to Pearl and gave her a hug. "Hi, Pearl. What's going on?"

  "Jack, I want you to meet Martin," Pearl said, introducing us. "This is Jeremi's father. He's only been here with us for a few days."

  "It's nice to meet you, Jack."

  "I'm Jeannie's brother. I've been on this side for nearly four years now. I heard she was writing poetry again; I wanted to come see her and check it out. I love to visit her, so I thought this would be a good time. You and Jeremi are her inspiration, I see."

  "What do you mean?" I asked.

  "What do you mean 'what d'ya mean?'" Jack asked. "You need to read her poem. Go carefully look over her shoulder and read her poem. Just stay in front of her."

  "I've already been introduced to that little tidbit. Why is that?" I asked.

  "Me, it's my fault," Jack admitted. "When we were children, I used to sneak up on her all the time. Sometimes, I'd wait down the hallway and jump out. Sometimes I'd tiptoe up behind her and tickle her and make her jump a mile. I was relentless. We had fun. She developed the self-defense of facing everything pretty early and I guess it stuck with her." Jack laughed, probably remembering some of those times. When he finished, the three of us turned small, sat on her shoulder and watched her write like we would watch a movie. The paper she wrote on had more things erased than written.

  "She's started over about four times now," Pearl said. "Relax, Jeannie, you're doing fine." Jeannie took a deep breath and let out a heavy sigh. Then she wrote the next line and stopped again, put the pen in her mouth and stared off into space.

  The line she wrote was "I feel your stress, I feel your strain."

  Then Jack said, "Let me help you ease your pain." Which was what she then wrote down. I liked that line. Then Jack looked over at me to explain "We wrote songs together all the time when she still lived at home and I'd come to visit."

  "Would she have come up with that one on her own?"

  "Something similar, maybe, and she still might change it. We can only make suggestions, she's the one doing the writing." Jack looked back at Jeannie, who wrote another line. "I can help, I've been there, too." She stared back at the ceiling, seemingly at a loss for words.

  So I said, "Lean on me, I'll see you through." Which to my amazement, she also wrote down.

  "Good one!" Jack said. "Writing songs like this brings back a lot of fun memories for me."

  I looked at Jeannie, she still stared at the ceiling, but now she had a slight smile and a very distant look. I think Jack inspired the same memory in her.

  We wrote a few more lines, then Pearl reminded Jeannie how late it was and how many things Jeannie had promised to do for other people in the morning. So Jeannie put the pages on the nightstand, turned out the light, nestled her head on her pillow and stretched out her arm like she was going to hold someone's hand. So Jack held her hand. "Hey, Jack, if you are here, thanks for helping me with the poem. And would you say hello to Jeremi's father for me and tell him that I'm really sorry I never got the chance to meet him?"

  "You're welcome and he knows," Jack said. He kept hold of her hand until she fell asleep. He kissed her and Pearl good-bye and waved to me. "I'll be back when I can." Then he disappeared.

  "Jack and Sheila are part of their connection," Pearl began. "They've had long talks about their respective losses, how they are similar, but different. How hard it was to watch Sheila wither away and how sudden and shocking Jack's mountain climbing accident was. Jeremi and Jeannie both can usually tell when they're being visited. Jack leaves presents behind."

  "Presents? How can he leave presents behind?" I needed to be educated about these so-called presents.

  "All sorts of presents, but mostly he likes to work with plants. When Jeannie returned from Jack's funeral, the plant that he and his wife had given her was in bloom, even though it was out of season. Another time, he made a clump of flowers grow into a heart shape, during a particularly lonely period, just before her separation. He's done it for everyone in his family. They compare stories and are all sure it's Jack's doing. For the most part, they're right. He took over Guardianship of his son, so he only comes when he can. We'll see him again soon."

  Pearl and I went to check on the girls. She was the only one watching over the house this night. Everything was fine.

  I thought about George and he immediately appeared. "They're asleep," I informed him.

  "Ready to go?" he asked. I nodded and we were back in Heaven, walking down a magnificent road. Now that I was surrounded by even more spectacular beauty, I took a minute to gather my thoughts and reflect on all that I had learned in such a short period of time.

  "It's easy to learn a lot in a little while, when you have a completely new perspective." It was Mother.

  "Yes, it is," I agreed.

  I just launched into telling Mother everything about my experiences. I learned so very much and enjoyed every moment of it. I talked very fast. I related all the details to her, about Glory and Sarah, about Peter, about Jeremi, Jeannie and her girls. How I loved it when the other angels shared stories with me about their charges and how they worked through me to reach my family and my friends. I was so excited about the pro
spect of helping my family and friends in a way that I never even dreamed possible. This was incredible!

  I told Mother about the sunrise that Sheila and I had painted for Glory. We laughed when we talked about all the ways the angels played with babies. I felt so content knowing that I could go back and hold Glory any time I wanted to and she would just know I was there and feel my love. I loved being an angel!

  Mother and I walked and discussed the potential to communicate with our living loved-ones. She told me about one of the times she'd used angel light on my brother and me. It was a night we were fighting over something stupid and it had gotten completely out of hand.

  "I remember," I said. I knew exactly the incident she was referring to. "There was a scratching at the window, but there nothing was there."

  "That was to get your attention," she acknowledged.

  "Then there was your rocking chair rocking in the wind. It was all I could see. You were all I could think about. I forgot what we were fighting over. I just watched it rock. I stared and stared at it; it was like you were in it again and I could just imagine what you would say to us. You'd be yelling at us from that rocker, 'If I have to come in there, you'll be sorry! You boys remember you are brothers and put that petty foolishness aside. Lord have mercy!'"

  "You may have thought you were imagining it, but that's what I said!" She smiled.

  "It stopped the fight."

  "I know!" she gloated, and we laughed together.

  Suddenly I realized, we'd left Heaven. This walk had taken us back to that old house. We were in the front yard. I stared at it.

  "We had some times in that ol' house." Mother said and squeezed my hand tightly.

  "Good and bad." I sighed. It was interesting to look at the house now. The rocker was gone from the porch anymore; there was a new family there. They had painted it gray with blue trim. I found it pretty, but peculiar.