Angels in My Hair

by Lorna Byrne

  Reluctantly, I did so. I looked at the television and I saw a film of the man who had just been found guilty of murdering his young wife in a very cold, calculated, and premeditated way. As I was sitting watching it, I was shown what he had done to his soul: he had disconnected his own human self from his soul, so that his soul couldn't interfere with what he planned to do. This had put coldness, ice, into his heart. It's hard to explain, but it was as if he had pushed his soul away, away back from him, and had then chained his soul as if to a wall, with chains that couldn't be broken. Sometimes we do these things to our soul because we want greed to rule our lives. We become obsessed with material things. It wasn't the devil, or anyone else who had done this to this man's soul; he had done it himself. He had become, in a sense, a man of ice.

  That is how he was at that moment; I was allowed to see his soul as he was being led off to jail. This doesn't mean that over time that he might not feel remorse and his soul might break some of the chains. He'll never be able to bring back the girl, his young wife whom he murdered, and he has to pay, humanely, for what he has done, but the worst part of all is what he has done to his own soul. This is the worst. As his soul breaks free, if he allows it, he will go through terrible torment within himself; he will try to avoid feeling it, but eventually he will break down and then he will feel deep and terrible pain.

  This man had deliberately gone out and killed for reasons of greed. He had planned to take the soul from someone else's body. He had taken this soul before its time (I know some would say that if you are murdered, then it had to be your time, or it had to be retribution for an act in a past life – but this is not always true). He took her soul and his soul felt tremendous pain and hurt; his soul felt this because it was not able to stop him performing this terrible act.

  Her soul, that of his young murdered wife, also feels the sadness of knowing that his soul is trapped. Her soul forgives him. Souls always forgive; it's as if souls never give up. They are like the angels; one soul never gives up on another.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Peace in Ireland and at Christmas

  One Monday evening, Joe was watching the news on television and he called out to me to come quickly. On the screen was a picture of the pawnbroker shop in Dublin which we used. I couldn't believe what I was hearing: thieves had broken into the shop over the weekend and everything had been cleared out. The theft hadn't been discovered until Monday morning and the Garda were saying they had no idea who had done it, but that it had been well planned.

  I turned to Joe and looked at him, saying, 'That means my ring has gone.' I started to cry. 'My beautiful ring!' I was very upset. Joe put his arm around me. 'Now we won't have it to get us out of a jam any more. It's just not fair,' I said.

  I felt lost without my ring. It meant an awful lot to me, even though, being honest, it spent more time in the pawnbrokers than on my finger. I hoped that maybe the police would recover the ring, but as time went on that seemed more and more unlikely.

  A few weeks later, we got a letter in the post from the pawnbrokers.

  Joe must have read it about four times for me. It notified us that the receipt we signed at the pawnbrokers, when we left the ring in, released them of any responsibility. They had no liability at all for the theft of the ring when in their care.We were gutted by this. No ring and no compensation for its loss.

  Joe promised that some day he would get me another ring. I told him it didn't matter, that no ring would mean the same to me as that one. Joe gave me another hug and we put the letter away.

  A few days later, while sitting on the doorstep of the cottage, Angel Michael appeared as if walking around from the back of the house. He sat beside me on the doorstep. 'I don't feel like talking,' I said to him. Angel Michael put his hand on my shoulder. 'Lorna, I'm very sorry about your ring. We could do nothing.' I turned to Michael and his radiance made me smile a little.

  'Michael, I just wish you could have done something,' I said. 'Joe is sad too. He feels he has let me down. He said the other day that if he had been able to provide for us better then the ring would never have been in the pawnbrokers.'

  'Remember, Lorna,' Michael said, 'It's only a ring, a material object. Just remember Joe's love.' I thought about what Michael had said for a minute; he was right, of course. I felt much better. I turned and smiled at Michael and then he disappeared. I didn't give much more thought to the ring after that.

  I'm not interested in politics, but I'm very interested in peace, and at this time, in the mid 1990s, there was a lot of talk about peace in Northern Ireland. I asked Angel Michael about Northern Ireland on one occasion when he was sitting with me. He told me people would try and scupper the peace process. It was unlikely they would succeed, but peace would be a long time coming. It would take twenty years or so before everything was sorted out.

  Since then I have been watching and watching. I've noticed lately how some people have become considerably more open and giving, being forced to retreat from previous positions to bring about peace. Michael told me that it's very important that peace comes to Northern Ireland. It's not just important for Ireland and Great Britain; if a terrorist group like the IRA can become part of a government, it will show terrorist groups in other countries that they can do it too, that there is a route to peace other than by violence. I have been told that Ireland can be a cornerstone for peace in the world: the devil is constantly trying to remove it, but it is turned around again and again.

  Ireland is an example of religion fighting religion, faith fighting faith, and if Ireland can come to peace, so can other countries – it will even have influence on Iraq, Palestine and Israel.

  I have been shown different paths for the world. At times I have watched and been terrified. Some of the possible futures I have been shown have been truly atrocious, and if one of those come to pass I don't want to be alive to see it. But I have also been shown many wonderful paths, where there is room for everyone to live in harmony and at peace. I believe the world in the future can be a wonderful place, but every single individual has to play their part.

  All ordinary people want peace. A woman who lived in Northern Ireland came to see me; her husband had been killed in the violence and her elder son was now in jail for his role as a terrorist. It broke her heart to see how her elder son had destroyed his life and all the pain he had caused to others. Her younger son was now following in his brother's footsteps, and she feared he would end up dead too. She could see no end to this cycle of violence. Every day she went to the church to pray for peace and to pray for a normal life – that her elder son could come back and be a father to his young child, and that her younger son could marry and have children.

  She told me she was fed up of going to funerals and was determined not to pass on hatred – but she saw other grandmothers who were actively doing so. 'If those grandmothers would stop breathing hatred into their children and their grandchildren, it would make a very big difference,' she said. She was trying, but it wasn't at all easy. My heart went out to her.

  As I have said before, the angels have told me that war is easy; making and keeping peace is the difficult thing.

  I had become very anxious about Joe in recent months, I could see him deteriorating; he was losing weight and constantly having stomach problems and his body seemed to be shrivelling up. I called the doctor frequently, but he didn't seem to be able to do anything.

  One day when Joe was at home in bed, he became extremely ill and disorientated. He didn't know who he was, or who I was. He was in great distress and I was terrified I was going to lose him. When he came around, Joe found he couldn't move the left side of his body, and his speech was slurred.

  Joe had had a stroke!

  They kept him in hospital for months, doing intensive physiotherapy and teaching him to walk and speak again. For a long time after this he dragged his leg and I used to have to cut up his food because he couldn't hold his fork properly. Fortunately, after a period his speech came back to
normal, and you couldn't hear the stroke in his voice.

  Sometimes when Joe was back at home recuperating, we would go for a walk in the evening when it was dark. Joe was embarrassed to be seen; he thought people would think he was drunk. I used to tell him that it didn't matter what other people thought and I walked with my arm around him (although he was a very tall man and I'm a small woman). The angels helped me, as I wouldn't have been able to support Joe on my own. Joe had a habit of pushing me out to the edge of the footpath and, but for the angels, I know we would have fallen.

  I gave out to God and the angels constantly about Joe, asking, 'Why does he have to be ill? Why can't you make him better?Why can't you make life easier?' One day I was in tears out in the garden, pretending to be doing something so that no one would see my tears. Angel Michael appeared in front of me. I almost stepped into him as I reached up to pull a leaf off the plum tree. I sobbed at him, 'Michael, I don't want to believe that Joe's life is coming to an end. It's too soon. Please tell God. I don't think I could cope, I don't want Joe to die.'

  'Lorna, God can hear you,' Michael replied. 'He knows what is in your heart. Lorna, look at me, look into my eyes.What do you see?'

  As I looked into the Angel Michael's eyes, everything seemed to vanish – even Angel Michael. His eyes turned into a pathway full of life and light. On each side of the pathway I could see snow-white angels and there was Joe as a young man, healthy and strong, walking with angels, walking towards members of his family who had already died. Joe was on the pathway to Heaven. Seeing Joe looking so well and happy filled my heart with joy.

  At the same time, I cried out, 'Angel Michael, no! No! I don't want Joe to die. He's too young to die; he's only in his early forties. It's not fair!'

  I stood under the plum tree crying my heart out with Michael comforting me, his feathered wings wrapped around me and his arms holding me tight. After a while Michael unfolded his wings from around me and wiped the tears from my eyes.

  'Lorna, be strong now, go and take care of your family and Joe.'

  Angel Michael touched my forehead and in a flash of light he was gone.

  A few weeks later, I was asked by a friend to see a family the following evening. I was a little hesitant about seeing them because of Joe and because the children would be home from school; with dinner, sports, homework and all that going on in that small house, I was a little reluctant to agree, but I did.

  The next evening, to my surprise, Joe got up for dinner and decided he would go and visit a friend with Christopher. I kept looking at Joe; his soul seemed to be one step in front of him all the time. I was really frightened and told him he needn't go out, that I could see the family in the kitchen. Joe said that he felt he shouldn't be there when the family was visiting, and not to worry as Christopher would be with him.

  A knock came at the door. The family had arrived early. Joe and Christopher passed the visitors in the hall.

  Just as the family were leaving, Joe arrived back and again they passed each other in the hall. I said goodbye at the front door and, when I came back into the kitchen, Joe looked extremely pale and seemed a little agitated. I put the kettle on straightaway, made tea and put about four spoonfuls of sugar into it for him. I insisted he sit down and drink it immediately.

  I made a sandwich and poured him another cup of tea. As I stood at the opposite end of the table, watching him, I asked, 'Are you sure you are feeling okay?'

  'I'm fine,' he replied, 'There's no need to fuss.'

  He could only have taken about two bites out of the sandwich when the atmosphere changed in the room. At that moment, Ruth, in night clothes and bare feet, opened the kitchen door and asked, 'Mum, can I ring a friend about homework?'

  I looked from Ruth to Joe and then back to Ruth. 'Yes, but be quick,' I replied. Everything happened in slow motion, the only sound to be heard was Ruth was dialling the number and the clicking sound of the dial, then her voice saying 'Hello'.

  Then it happened: Joe took an extremely bad turn. I had always done my best never to allow the children to see this happening. Ruth started screaming hysterically as her Dad went into convulsions. I was trying to help Joe and my daughter at the same time. I knew Joe was dying and I needed help. I cried silently, 'Angels, help!', as I said to Ruth, 'Go and get Christopher.'

  It turned out that Christopher had gone to the shops and wasn't there to help. I told Ruth to dial 999, ask for an ambulance and give our address. Ruth spoke hysterically to someone on the other end of the phone line. When she had done this, I told her to go quickly and fetch a neighbour to help. Ruth ran out the door screaming, still barefoot.

  I was standing beside Joe, holding onto him and praying. I was doing all I could to help him physically, holding him as he sat slumped at the kitchen table. No sooner had Ruth gone out the door than there was a flash of light. Joe and I, sitting at the table in the centre of the room, became encased in what looked like an enormous ice cube or cube of crystal. The cube was hollow in the centre and extremely cold. I could see my breath, yet I felt warm. There was no breath coming from Joe's mouth; he had stopped breathing and his lips were going blue. I cried out, 'Angels, I am not prepared for this!'

  Snow-white angels walked into the cube. I screamed and cried, 'No, God! Please don't take Joe yet. Let him stay in this world a little longer.'

  I watched with great pain in my heart as Joe's soul moved out of his body completely and the path that Angel Michael had shown me appeared. I could see Joe as I had seen him before: his soul radiant, beautiful angels walking with him and, in the distance further down the path, members of his family waiting to welcome him. As he walked towards them, I was still asking God to please let Joe stay in this world for a little longer, for him not to die just yet, that I still needed him and so did the children.

  I suddenly felt great warmth as God's voice spoke, 'Lorna, I will give him back to you only this once, but you must never ask again.' God spoke with a firm voice. I knew he was being stern with me for asking for something I should not have asked for. I felt like I had as a child when an adult was cross with me. God spoke with such power of authority that I knew I should not have asked. God's words stayed in my mind constantly from then on, I must never ask again.

  Suddenly Joe's body sat up. He opened his mouth and it was as if life was sucked back into his human body. As his soul reentered his body, the life force was unbelievable. It was only then that I had noticed that it was Joe's guardian angel who had sat him up. Joe turned to me and spoke in a whispered voice. 'I think I was on my way to Heaven.' Then he seemed to pass out.

  Only then did I become aware of the sound of Ruth and our neighbour rushing in through the hall door and, at the same time, heard Christopher's and Owen's voices calling out 'What's wrong?' as they ran up the drive.

  When the ambulance arrived, it took a little convincing to get Joe to go to the hospital. Eventually, though, he went and I followed with a neighbour in a car. Some hours later, a doctor came out to speak to me and told me that Joe was very lucky. He had been in a coma when he had arrived at the hospital. 'Joe must have someone watching over him,' the doctor said, as he turned around and walked away. I smiled because I, of course, knew he did have someone watching over him – his guardian angel – and that God had granted the miracle and given him back his life.

  Joe spent two weeks in hospital. I was constantly thanking God for that miracle of giving Joe back for another little while. I didn't know how much time we had together: whether it was weeks, months or maybe another couple of years. In my heart, I was hoping so much that it could be years, but I knew that when the time came, I could not ask God again to allow Joe to live.

  Joe had been given back to me, but his health never recovered. He stayed in bed most of the time and was never able to work again. Things were very tough. The children did what they could to help: they had had part-time jobs since they were about twelve years old, and gave some of their pay to me. Joe and I were always determined, though, that our child
ren would continue in school, whatever our circumstances, and would get a good education. I always felt that I had lost out by being taken out of school at fourteen.

  I noticed our gate was quite rusty and badly in need of paint. On a morning when I had some time to spare, and the weather was crisp and cold, I found an old paintbrush that needed some cleaning and half a tin of black paint in the shed and started painting the gate. I was working away when a young boy on a bicycle came along, stopped and said hello. It was Paul, one of Christopher's school friends; they were around the same age, about fourteen. 'Why aren't you at school?' I asked.

  He told me he was off sick, but was well enough to give me a hand and offered to help. I handed him an old knife and he started to scrape loose paint off the gate. He chatted away about school and fishing, laughing and joking in between. After a while, I'd had enough, thanked Paul and said goodbye. He picked up his bike and went down the road. I watched him as he went and I saw four angels around him.

  The four angels appeared to be running alongside Paul, in front of and behind him; they gave me the impression that they were trying to prevent him from falling off his bike. I asked, 'What are you angels up to?' I could see no reason for him to fall; to me, he looked as if he was cycling perfectly. I did not see his guardian angel, but I did think it was a little strange at that time that Paul had come to visit me, something he had never done before.

  I didn't give it another thought until, about three days later; I was out working on the gate again when I heard someone coming. I stopped what I was doing, walked out onto the road and there was Paul, walking towards me with his bike. His guardian angel was behind him. I knew something was wrong; Paul looked healthy and strong, but the light surrounding him should have been glowing, and it wasn't. Instead, it was turned down, making the light of life look dim around him. I also couldn't understand why his head was down.