Angel

Angel

“The prince and the princess lived happily ever after, the end.”

“Mommy, mommy, won’t you read it again?”

I looked at my daughter’s pleading face, how innocent and pure. She was perfect, in my eyes. An angel sent from God to give me a reason to go on living after the accident.

“Please read it again mommy.”

How could I say no? I indulged her and read the fairy tale once again. It had become almost a tradition now. Every night, my angel would pick out a book, and every night, the same request came. I could never say no to such a blessing, so every night, my angel would fall asleep to the sound of my voice reading, once again, her bedtime story. Her little chest would gently rise and fall in the peaceful rhythm of uninterrupted sleep.

How unlike my angel’s sleep was mine. I lay in bed each night, reliving the accident and thanking God for sending me an angel. If He had not intervened, I would not be here today, but ever caring is my God, for He told me she was coming just in time.

That night, I lay in bed; my angel had already drifted off to sleep. I closed my eyes and the memories came. It was dark outside. We were in the car; he was driving. It was our one-year anniversary. He had taken me out to eat at Fizzoli’s, my favorite restaurant. We went for a walk in the rain after dinner.

Neither one of us believed in drinking, but we were drunk on love that night. We were so happy together, he and I. The world was perfect at that moment. We were in the car now, laughing and enjoying each other’s company. He reached over and held my hand. We were silent after that, content just to be with each other. I was studying his face. There was such strength there. He turned and looked over at me. His eyes were so full of love that my heart melted in that instance. A loud crash resounded in my mind. I saw the flash of shattering glass.

I could stand it no longer. Getting up, I walked to the kitchen for a glass of warm milk. Nights were always like this for me. They always ended the same, with me in the kitchen, drinking a glass of warmed milk and reading the Bible. I would awaken in the morning, still in the kitchen, my head resting on the book open before me. Then, a new day would begin.

This morning, I awoke to the gentle voice of an angel. I soon realized that it was my little angel and lovingly took her up into my arms.

“Mommy, did you have a bad dream?” she asked, her innocent face looked inquiringly up at me.

“No, Angel, mommy just fell asleep reading again,” I could not bear telling her I had another nightmare. She always grew so concerned. “Are you hungry?” I asked, distracting her from the current topic.

“Yah,” she said excitedly. “Can I help make breakfast?”

How could I resist her? That morning, we laughed and smiled as we made a mound of pancakes for us to feast upon. All was forgotten, for the moment. It was one of the rare times in which I was completely content with the life God had granted me.

That day, my little angel was turning three. I had purchased a special dress for her to wear. It was a beautiful white lace dress with little ruffles along the bottom and on the sleeves. She wore little white shoes with a lacy bow on each, and white socks with fold-down ruffles. I dressed her, than stood her before a mirror. She squealed in shear delight at the little girl looking back at her. How fitting, my little angel dressed all in white. Her purity virtually shone upon her countenance. I thanked God again and again for sending me an angel.

The day proceeded as that of any other three year old’s birthday might. I lavished presents upon her of varying sorts. I had begun saving what money I could, just after her second birthday, and so it went every year. It was the only way I could afford to make her birthday wonderful. I would give anything for my angel.

“Mommy, read me a story,” my angel said, after we had gotten ready for bed later that night.

Always the indulgent mother, I asked her to pick one out for me to read. How tiny she looked as she slid out of bed. How calming was the sound of her little feet thudding softly on the carpet as she ran to the bookshelf. I was startled, upon her return, to see her holing a large photo album in her tiny hands.

“This one, mommy,” she innocently told me as she passed the book to my hands.

“This is not a story book, Angel. There are no words for me to read.”

“Tell me about the pictures, mommy. I want to hear about daddy tonight.”

The tears welled up in my eyes. I slowly opened the photo album, let my angel crawl onto my lap, and looked at the first photograph.

“That was a very special day indeed, I began. “That was the day God gave me you.”

“That’s me, mommy?”

“Of course it is! You were so tiny then. The first time I saw you, I thanked God for sending me an angel.”

“Why do you call me an angel, mommy?” she asked so innocently.

I was shocked speechless by her question. What could I tell her? She was only three years old. How could I explain to her that if she had not come along, I would have taken my life.

“Almost four years ago, your daddy was taken up to heaven to live with God,” I explained. “God knew that I was awfully lonely down here without your daddy, and that’s when he sent me you.” By this time, I was trying desperately to keep a steady voice.

“So God sent me here to live with you?”

“That’s right, Angel.”

“Did I used to live with God?”

I was beginning to think I had no ordinary three-year-old, for what kind of a three-year-old asks these kind of questions?

“Yes, you used to live with God before He sent you to live with me.” It was the only explanation I could think of.

“Why don’t I remember what He looks like?”

I was exasperated. How was I to answer a question like that? It appeared that my little angel was too smart for my good. I had to think a while before answering this one. She just sat there, patiently waiting.

“Well,” I said, “close your eyes.” She did so. “Picture yourself somewhere you’d love to be.” I waited a bit. “What do you see?”

“A bright sky with puffy white clouds, green grass, a big tree with a seat under it, and a bright sun,” she replied.

“What do you smell?”

She opened her eyes, “Oh mommy, I can’t smell dreams!”

I chuckled a bit. “Imagine what you would smell there, then tell me about it.”

“Oh. Hmm, I smell freshly cut grass and flowers in the air.”

“Okay, imagine what you’d hear and tell me about it.”

She was beginning to get the hang of things by now, so she answered quickly, “I hear birds chirping in the tree above me, the swish of leaves in the wind, and a bee buzzing past my ear!” A grin spread from ear to ear as she related this to me.

“Now tell me what you feel.”

She took a deep breath, “I feel warm and happy inside.”

“That’s God,” I told her, hoping desperately that she would understand what I meant.

She sat there for a long while in silence, looking quite thoughtful before she looked up and said, “I get it, mommy! All those things came from God, so they all show me God.”

I marveled at the intelligence she possessed. I never would have been able to understand that when I was her age! My angel was so smart; I just took her in my arms and hugged her tightly. “That’s enough for tonight, I think.”

“But mommy, what about daddy?”

“I think you have enough to think about for tonight. We’ll talk about daddy tomorrow.”

I kissed her on the forehead and tucked her in tightly for the night. On my way out, I turned out the light. The motion sensitive night-light clicked on as I walked down the hallway. Entering my room, I lay down in bed, still marveling at her ability to understand. What a blessing she was!

Attempting to sleep, my mind drifted back to the accident, first the dinner, then the walk. Now we were in the car, he grabbed my hand; we looked into each other’s eyes, the crash, the shattering of glass. I screamed, blacked out for a moment, then woke to silence. Something was still grasped tightly in my hand. It was his hand, no longer returning my tight grip. Our car lay sideways in the ditch. He must have taken a corner too sharply. I looked over and there he lay, only one visible injury, a big gash on his forehead, but no sign of life. I began to cry. Sirens sounded, they removed us both from our crumpled car. I saw the emergency doctor check his vital signs. He solemnly shook his head.

I woke up, tears streaming down my face. The sun was just beginning to peak into my room. I got up and busied myself with various tasks to take my mind off of him. I thought I would let my angel sleep a little longer, even though she likes to get up when I do. I walked to her room just to check on her though. I heard a little cough before I reached the door. I hoped she was not getting a cold, the poor girl. I never could bear her being ill.

I peeked in the door and saw her lying awake, looking through the photo album we had out the night before. Silly little angel, she should have gotten me up. I walked in and sat down on the bed.

“Are you feeling alright?” I asked.

“No,” was her simple reply. She never was one to complain about her illnesses. She was either well or she was not.

I leaned in and kissed her forehead, followed by taking my wrist to her forehead. She did feel a little warm. I tickled her stomach a little. Getting the gratification of a big grin and a little giggle.

“I’ll call the doctor and make an appointment for you.”

I went to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, got a couple of children’s Tylenol, went to the kitchen and got a small glass of milk and brought it all in to her.

“Take this, Angel, and go back to sleep.”

After she drank all of her milk, I took the glass back to the kitchen, set it down, and then picked up the phone. The doctor said I could bring her in the next day at 10:00 A.M. I thanked him and hung up the phone. Saying a little prayer for my daughter, I went about my daily chores of cleaning the house. Soon, I had them completed so I sat down at the computer to do a little work.

I was an on-line consultant so I was able to work at home and raise my angel all at the same time. I went straight to work, and, working diligently managed to get done before 4:30 P.M. I rarely had so much free time, and since my angel was still sleeping in her room, I sat down to study the Bible for a while. Before I began, I said a silent prayer, thanking God for the day and, again, praying for the health of my daughter. Upon praying this, I had a strong presence come over me. I looked around the room, wondering what was going on.
In my mind, I heard a voice saying, “She desires to return home.”

Believing this to be God speaking to me, I lay myself prostrate on the ground and began praying in earnest. “I do not understand, God.”

“I plan on bringing her home shortly,” the tender voice returned.

“No, God, please, anything but that!” I begged.

“She desires it,” was all I received as a reply.

“What about what I desire? She is the only thing that keeps me living each day!” I grew more exasperated with each passing moment. I received no audible reply to this, but I knew the answer in my heart. The desires of my angel were pure and innocent whilst mine were selfish and greedy. My angel was more precious to me than anything. I wanted to keep her to myself. I never wanted to share her with anyone, not even God Himself.

I begged and pleaded with my whole heart that the Lord change His mind and leave her with me. I used every excuse I could think of.

She was keeping me alive, His answer was, “No, I am keeping you alive.”

He was being selfish because he had already taken my husband.

“No, your husband desired to return to me as well. I gave you a gift in return because I knew that you would need help coping with his decision though.”

She was mine and not His to take. To this I received no answer. I knew why. I was ashamed I had even said it. He created her and gave her to me as a gift out of the mercifulness of his heart. He owned her because He made her. I should be happy with the time he has allowed me to spend with her. No, it just was not fair!
I had not realized how long I had been bargaining with God that evening. By the time I pulled myself up off of the ground, the kitchen was dark, the sun having set long ago.

“Oh no, I’ll bet my angel is hungry. It’s already 8:00 P.M,” I exclaimed.

I bustled around the kitchen and managed to throw together a quick batch of chicken noodle soup for my angel. I brought it in to her and the poor dear was still fast asleep. I could not believe she had been sleeping all day without a peep! I went to wake her up, but she would not respond to me! I began sobbing. My conversation with the Lord came to mind immediately. I tried everything I could to wake my angel. I called the ambulance, then fell next to her and held her tightly.

Holding her in my arms, I felt an overwhelming sense of comfort come over me. I knew that my angel returned to God, and was happier now, than she ever could have been here on earth. Suddenly, I no longer lamented over her loss. I almost felt joy for her. How happy she would be!

After her funeral, I stood before her tombstone. I thanked God for telling me that my angel would be returning to Him before she actually did. It gave me strength and allowed me to know that she would be happier now. I prayed that He take care of our little angel for me, until it was my time to come home too.