what a day

 

 

 

 

 

WHAT A DAY

  My teenage daughter, Cindy, and her friend Molly, were only pretending to be interested in their cell phones. I could tell they were eyeing me with their peripheral vision as I sipped my coffee and picked at the remainder of my breakfast.  I would occasionally glance at the wall clock and resume coffee sipping, slowly, ever so slowly and leisurely. They were definitely having difficulties restraining themselves from leaping out of their chairs at the slightest indication that I was  ready to go....go to the Clear the Shelters event at the pound where Molly was hoping to adopt a ...anything, cat, dog, potbellied pig. Anything in need of rescuing and unlimited love. I was the authorized, "competent" adult along for the ride with Molly's mother's  list of acceptable animals and cell number for verification in case Molly fell in love with some odd exotic absolutely-out-of the-question fur baby, though in my thinking those kind of babies didn't exit. 
 

 I pushed my chair back and stood up. Bing! Bing! So did Cindy and Molly, only to re-sit themselves when they saw me refill my coffee cup. My terrier Scruffy, who was pretending to nap at my feet, raised his head and pointed his ears up then collapsed his head back down on top of his paws, just as disappointed.  
 

  Raising the coffee cup to my lips I paused and lowered it to the counter top. "Everyone ready?"

 

  The girls sprang into action and raced out the door to the car, followed by Scruffy. "Hey, I just asked, didn't mean I was ready!" I yelled after them. Oh well, I guess it's time, if I postponed this any longer I would be turned in on some kind of  cruelty to minors charge.

 

  Parking at the pound was at a premium. Why was today so busy? All these prospective pets have been here for months, why was the public so interested in them today? Oh yeah, to help project Clear the Shelters pet adoption fees were reduced tremendously to a more affordable rate.  I hope this didn't allow individuals with limited income to adopt something on a whim they couldn't afford to maintain. That's me, always looking at the opposite pole of good. Gosh sometimes I really need an attitude tune up.

   

  As we wriggled through the diverse horde, a guy bounced into Cindy when  a child on rolling tennis shoes who was only looking where he was going careened into him.  This contact with Cindy caused Scruffy’s neck hair to flare up like a porcupine as he emitted a low menacing growl, showing a row of sharp pointed teeth. Very odd. Scruffy was usually the most amiable of terriers. Guy apologized to Cindy, lowered his head and angled his course a bit more out of Scruffy's reach, and continued onward through the throng.

  “That man touched me,” Cindy exclaimed, indicating her breast. “I don’t think that was an accident.”

 

  “Now Cindy, it’s crowded in here and I saw the whole thing, I don’t think it was intentional,” I responded, not entirely convinced she was imagining things. Scruffy looked up at me, shook his head in disagreement, growled again and inched up closer to Cindy in his protector’s armor. He may be a small package, but so is dynamite. Well the guy was out of our personal space now.

 

 This event really seduced a horde of pet hungry humans; people were bumping, shoving and pushing into each other afraid they’d lose a chance to own the perfect companion. Kids (the anthropoid kind as well as the furry kind) were running about without obvious adult supervision oohing at all the animals.

 

 One little girl of about three  ran from kennel to kennel thrusting her hands in to grab excited dogs or cats by their collars then attempted to pull them out through the narrow bars while her mother tried to keep up with her, admonishing her to behave before she went to find her dad, to no avail. I don’t think that little girl is ready for a pet yet, but I know something she is ready for…. Oops, can’t print that information. The volunteers gave the  mother scathing looks, the animals were better behaved.

 

  After an hour of viewing and dismissing numerous options from cats to Guinea pigs to miniature goats Molly froze at one of the hundreds of kennels containing a dog that was a shy looking mix of…God knows what.  A tan and black short haired medium sized dog with soulful eyes, (Yeah, I know, they all have soulful eyes). Eyes that had also apparently seen a lot of disappointment since the attached card mentioned it had been fostered many times and was nearing its last few days. Scruffy bellied up to the kennel and laid his head down. Dog reached a paw out and stroked Scruffy’s noggin, an action that sent Scruffy’s tail into overdrive, then he met Molly’s eyes and nodded acquiescence. Awe.  I believe we found Dog’s and Molly’s forever friend. The price was right, the size was right, the age was right, the temperament was right, and to top it all off, Scruffy approved. That was important as Molly and Cindy spent a lot of time together.

 

Paper work filled out, money handed over, Dog, whose real name, we learned, is Duke, was hooked up to the leash we’d brought and handed to a thrilled Molly.  Released from his cage Duke perked up even more as he and Scruffy did the happy dance together. I mean I’m talking a very HAPPY HAPPY dance. Yes, they were going to be good chums. Our phone cameras were clicking away to record the first day of this forever event. Remember when you could only take so many pictures before you ran out of film?  No. Hmmm.

 

  As we went back to our car amid hundreds of other new pet owners, Guy zipped passed us to his engine red pick-up truck carrying over his shoulder the disorderly three year old we’d encountered earlier who was now hollering up a storm and wailing for mom. Mom must have carried through with her threat of handing her over to Dad. Scruffy immediately started barking viciously at the man, then ran at him snipping at Guy’s heels. Scruffy was not acting himself. Something was off with him today. I caught up with Scruffy, grabbed him by scruff of his neck, sternly admonished him, and found it was my turn to apologize to Guy who accepted my apologies hastily before climbing into his truck and revving up the motor for takeoff. I guess he and mom came in separate vehicles.

 

  I dropped Molly and Duke off at their home and just pulled into my drive way when my phone and Cindy’s went off on an Amber alert. Man that alarm always shakes me up, it’s so loud and insistent. I turned it off and plunked my phone in my purse as I opened the car door.

 

 “Hey mom, look at this,” Cindy said, holding her phone up in my face. She actually read the alert.

 

 I looked. And looked. The more I looked my stomach sank. A little girl named Shay had been taken from the Clear the Shelters event about thirty minutes ago. Could it have been….? The details all added up. It was the disorderly three year old. Guy was not her father,  Clear the Shelters had been loaded with tiny tykes, it had been a virtual  candy store for predators. Scruffy whined at me with an “I knew it, you should have trusted my instincts” tone.

 

 

  I retrieved my phone and dialed the police station, gave them what information I could, and was invited down to the station, along with Cindy, to examine mug shots and/or create a composite picture of Guy. I closed my car door but not before Rocky, Scruffy’s pet squirrel, sailed in. I didn’t have time to make him leave I just hit the gas, I’m sure if I got caught for speeding I’d get a get out of jail free card with my excuse.

 

 

  Before I turned off towards the Police station a red pick-up passed us, wait, not a red pick-up, the red pick-up! It was Guy going the speed limit and I saw Shay in the passenger side, without a car seat. Man, Guy was breaking all the rules today.

 

  “Cindy, call the police and tell them we’re in pursuit of the suspect,” I ordered as I pulled up behind him going sixty-seventy miles per hour. Did I sound police-y? “Give them the license plate number.”

 

  Up ahead, pass three cars, my suspect turned off the freeway onto a dirt road. Shoot, he’ll notice me now, only two cars on a deserted road in the woods, what are the chances he doesn’t use his rear view mirror.  

 

  “Mom, they’re telling us to not follow him, he could be dangerous.” 

 

  Are you kidding? Really? He kidnapped a three year old, that’s more like a coward to me, yet I pulled over into the bushes by the freeway to wait for the police when thirty minutes later Guy drove back out and returned to the expressway. Passenger’s seat was now empty. I turned into the woods and drove down the gravel road over branches and rocks until I came to a cabin.  A secluded cabin fairly deep  in the woods, now how menacing does that sound? I’m thinking chain saws and….now I’m going to stop thinking.

 

  “Stay in the car,” I said, ignoring my own orders, as did Scruffy and Rocky; naturally. They were well trained but they chose which rules to follow and beat me to the porch. Cindy however was very content to remain behind.

 

  I checked the door. Locked, of course.  I walked around the sides peering in windows. There Shay was, tied to a rickety old wooden kitchen chair, crying her little eyes out. The windows had bars on them, what on earth for, don’t folks trust anyone anymore? I tried unsuccessfully to bang the door on the front porch open with my shoulders. What I needed was some muscle.

 

 

  I heard a resonating clomp, clomp, clomp and looked towards the woods on the left.  What on earth is that? I panicked, was Guy coming back? And if so what was he doing?

 

  “Cindy, get out of here,” I yelled, she was too far away for me to get to before whatever was charging loudly in my direction through the trees became visible.

 

  Cindy backed the car up just as a moose pierced the parameters and charged right towards me. Scruffy dived into the open car window and the car jerked to a stop so fast Cindy’s head flew forward and the air bag popped then deflated.

 

  “Scruffy hit the brakes!” Cindy hollered, and irately tried to restart the car.

 

  The moose kept on coming full speed, (I’m guessing, what’s full speed for a moose?) right towards me. Moose leapt onto the porch and careened into the door smashing it to splinters. I peeled myself off the outside wall and was about to run towards the car when I saw him…Rocky was sitting on Moose’s back, vibrating from the impact and chattering wildly at me. Again I’m guessing as my squirrel-ese is limited, but I translated Rocky’s words into, “Get the kid and let’s roll, NOW!”

 

 

 

  I ran inside, tripping over splintered wood fragments,  untied the little girl, grabbed her, bolted to the car behind Rocky, pushed Cindy out of the way, and after taking a head count took off followed by Moose close behind. Just as I reached the freeway Guy returned, of course. We exchanged glances briefly and I could see the amazement on his face right before he spun his truck around. It took him a few minutes to circumvent around Moose who was blocking the road with his head down ready to go head to grill. Luckily I managed to get a five minute lead.

 

  I was half way to the police station with Guy in pursuit at last, who had somehow sustained considerable damage to his grill,  when a mess of squad cars caught up to us (finally, might I add) from all directions lights and sirens blaring. Touchdown… Homerun…. Whatever! The game was over for Mr. Guy.

 

  At home, again, I collapsed into a chair exhausted after all the day’s excitement while adrenalin driven Cindy called Molly to give a full account of all that happened after she was dropped off at her house.  I heard all the details repeated by Cindy. How Little Shay was back home with a grateful mother and Guy was in jail and would be for a very long time. How the moose had been claimed by his owner, a man who had a small wild life preserve nearby. He was utterly mystified on how Bullwinkle had gotten lose. There were no breaks in the perimeter’s fence. (Wait a minute, Bullwinkle and Rocky? Really, I didn't make that up) On the down side, the police crime investigators had found loads of evidence at the cabin of Guy’s past activities involving other not so lucky children.  My heart cried for the parents that were being called probably at this moment with the devastating news they had been waiting for and dreading, some for years, while I sat at home with my daughter, alive and well. Unfortunately not all stories have a happy ending, but thank heaven, this one did.

 

 

The exhausted duo of Scruffy and Rocky were on the patio being praised by two wispy figures, the guardian angels assigned to Cindy and her mom.

 

“You guys did a great job without us today.” One tall wisp said.

 

“Yeah, guys, a great job.” The second wisp affirmed with a slight hesitation with a sideways glance at his companion.

 

Scruffy and Rocky curled up side by side into two co-joined balls of fur, way too whacked to care about their celestial applauses and were asleep in Nano seconds. The angels levitated them gently onto their shared soft sleeping mat. They wouldn’t realize till morning the risks they had taken with the assumption the angels, their constant source of help, had had their backs.

 

Wisp number two confronted his partner, “Why did you tell them they did all this on their own, you know I let out the moose for Rocky to appropriate, and you tossed Scruffy into the car to hit the brakes so Cindy wouldn’t get away and leave her mom and Shay behind when that pervert returned? We so totally had their backs!”

 

“Come on, we don’t need all the credit every time, do we?”

 

“I guess not,” Wisp number two answered reluctantly as he spread his wings and headed home, followed by his more humble colleague.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

too late

Too Late

I sat at the back of the chapel because I might be called away any minute.
Not to mention, I was still mad at her. I recalled our last argument too well.
Therefore, I stayed at the back watching the mourners enter and walk down the aisle to view her body. So many exclamations of disbelief, no one had seen this coming. If only she were here to see the crowd asimilating, maybe she would have stayed, maybe not. If only I could summon her back, point my finger at her and say,” I told you so. See people really did care." Her spirit was willing to stay but her flesh was weak. Only I had any influence on her and I lost. She would not listen to me. Her arguments were stronger. She was convinced God would forgive her even if he didn't approve of her tactics. It wasn't the absence of God in her life that caused her do to this, it was the failure to continue with the meds that God had provided. It was user error, not the manufacturers. Her "true" friends held each other for comfort. She should have spoken to them earlier but people get uncomfortable with those kinds of conversations, and it would have embarrassed her. There wasn't enough experience in dealing with these topics despite the literature out there. I hope now they will seek out that literature, she sure should have.

I was amazed at some of the faces I saw come in. I wanted to yell,” Hypocrite", and "murderer". They hadn't actually manually killed her body but they massacred her spirit. They laughed at her. They teased her. They belittled her. They made her feel invisible, unimportant. She had responded with good humor, her mask a perfect fit to hide the pain, doubts and hurts. She had them convinced she couldn't be bruised. She was tough, fun, outgoing. She did enjoy a good laugh and applauded good retorts, but it was the sincere insults hidden in humor that got to her. She had used humor as a coat of armor. If she had just taken the mask off occasionally and tried honesty with some of these people maybe she'd still be here. She had God on her side and followed the rule of turning the other cheek but being only human, this got old. Kids can be cruel on the playground and it doesn't stop there. Cruel kids grow into cruel adults.

They weren't completely responsible for destroying her, because she had a big part in it. She had to constantly fight her body's responses to low hormones. She finally had discovered anti-depressants. As the body ages it produces less and less of desirable mood chemicals and needs a boost much as a diabetic needs outside insulin, or someone needs thyroid hormone. It is not shameful to be on pills. These pills gave her a boost but like anything, they can only do so much. She would feel better and lighten up on her meds, then swing down to the pit of despair again. Why should one take meds just to feel good around people? She would get to feeling blue and let the insults injure her. Nevertheless, her mask did a good job. She would retaliate with a joke, good humor. She wouldn't let the aggressor know they scored a point, that their blade had found the target. Boy, that was a fantastic mask; it was waterproof and concealed the tears. It made people think she was invulnerable. "Oh, if we didn't like you, we wouldn't tease you," or, "It's just her, its okay." were regular rejoinders. They took a pebble size hunk out of her soul with every recital. "That's just her," when she wanted to be taken seriously, "That's just her," when she blundered, "That's just her," when she tried to correct an error. She was eaten in small bites. If she had seen this crowd maybe she would have stayed.

They kept coming, friends (and foes) from church and from work. However, these misty-eyed people have short memories. In time, this will be forgotten. Though there is no one else like her someone else will be teased mercilessly and end up the same way. Cruel kids, cruel adults. I could hear someone asking questions, Why? How? What for? The questions were useless because if they could be answered it wouldn't reverse a thing. She would still be dead.

This was it the grand finale, the results of cruel kids grown up. She hadn't left a note. It wouldn't have solved anything. Why did they deserve any answers? It would have been like throwing pearls before swine.

The eulogy was nice, flowery, and vaguely generic. It hit the good points. Gave the family hope of seeing her again. Tried to educate the attendees on the subject of her method of death. Created sobbing. Said good-bye. Left the body just as dead. The words should have been spoken when she could hear them. She might not have believed them, though. Actions speak louder than words.

I watched as the figures filed past the coffin. They said good-bye. Some cried. Oh, give me a break, you didn't even like her, I thought. Maybe they had repented. There is hope for the next victim of depression. Some lingered, and were genuinely respectful. Some just went to follow the crowd. It really was her, they all thought." If we didn't like you we wouldn't tease you," became, "We liked you, why didn't you let us help you?" It was incredibly touching.

The family went last. I couldn't bear watching them so I closed my eyes. They were closest to her and they still had not noticed her broken spirit as they were caught up in their own problems. I did not feel real sorrow for them. As the guests exited, I could hear plans being made for lunch, tennis, movies.

Already forgotten. Other plans being made. Life goes on...for some.
I had been able to stay for the whole affair and then some. This surprised me. I had really expected to be called away. The lights were being turned off so I eventually got up, walked to the pulpit where ushers were getting ready to close the lid (they paid no attention to me) and I looked down at the tranquil face. They had not done her justice. No matter what they say, a corpse doesn't look good. A dead face just looks like it is caked in make-up.

Her spirit was definitely gone, I was one hundred percent certain. "Good bye old friend, I can't wait to be reunited with you in heaven." I kissed my forehead, turned to the last, brightest light, and went home.

the envelope

Come on already, there has to be a parking place up front, I thought as I cruised through the parking lot for the fifth time. Sure there were lots of spaces farther away from the building but that was too far to walk in this heat, apparently I’d rather burn gas driving in circles that suffer a little old fashion heat exhaustion. Oh, wait, yahoo, a space just became available. I pressed a little harder on the pedal and got there just in time for….darn, someone snagged it before me. I watched as a little old lady climbed out of her antiquated car, retrieved her walker from the trunk and hobbled into the bank. I recognized her as a reclusive neighbor on my street, Mrs. Tibbet, I believe, her’s was the ramshackle old monstrosity of a frame house on the corner lot. I almost honked at her out of spite just to see her jump, but then she might have broken a hip.

 My terrier, Scruffy, sitting next to me, eyed me as though he could read my mind and thoroughly disapproved of my thoughts. I looked him fully in the eye and exclaimed, “Hey, I said almost, I’m sure you would have thought to do the same thing.  She could have used the handicapped parking, oh, never mind,they were full too.”  

Finally, a space opened for me. I zoomed into it feeling lucky to not get a speeding ticket for the quick acceleration that nearly caused Scruffy and my bible to slide off the passenger seat.  I rolled all four windows down slightly and poured some water in a bowl for Scruffy. I’d only be gone a few minutes.

After I completed my banking transactions and was back in the car in fifteen minutes I noticed an envelope on the ground where Mrs. Tibbet had parked.  I pulled over, leaned out to retrieve it and found to my surprise several one hundred dollar bills in the bank’s signature envelope. I counted six in all, and then recounted to be sure none were stuck together. What a windfall! I thought about taking it back into the bank but it was too hot, and I couldn’t be sure it was actually Mrs.Tibbet’s. 

“Anyone could have lost it; after all, it was a busy public parking lot, wasn’t it? And I’m part of the public, so I guess the money is mine now”, I told Scruffy as I stuffed the packet between the pages in my bible for safe keeping and zipped the cover shut. People really ought to be more careful with their things, especially money. Scruffy sniffed my bible and gave me another of his infamous “looks” before he curled up on the passenger seat….with his back towards me.

I drove on home passing Mrs. Tibbet’s house where Scruffy and I caught sight of her bent over, her support hose exposed up to her thighs, going through her car, seemingly looking for something. Scruffy glanced at me to gauge my reaction. 

“I can’t be sure it’s the same envelope she’s looking for. If I stopped and asked if she was looking for an envelope with money, who wouldn’t say , ‘Oh, yeah, that was my money alright.’ Nope, I found it plain and simple. I didn’t break in and steal it from anyone; it was lying on the ground outside, in plain view. Finders keepers, loser’s weepers I always said.” Am I actually defending myself to a dog?

 With a clear and muddled conscience I went into my house, placed my bible on the end table by the front door and went about my house hold chores as Scruffy marched passed me with his nose in the air and eyes averted. Why did I feel like he was criticizing me?

A day or two latter my doorbell rang and I opened it to find a young waif standing on the porch, a lawn mower on the sidewalk behind him. I could guess where this was going.

“I’d be glad to mow your yard for you.” The youngster said.

Giving him the once over I asked, “Aren’t you kind of young for mowing yards?”

“Honestly, I can do it, I need the money for some new shoes.” He answered, pointing to his feet. I had noticed the threadbare foot ware he had on and the patchy clothes he was modelling, evidently a poster child for the area homeless shelter or a Charles Dickens movie.

“I’m not going to let you mow my yard with those flimsy shoes. What if you got hurt? Why can’t your parents buy you some, that’s their job?”

“I don’t live with them, my brother and I just moved in with my grandmother up the street and she was going to buy me some but she lost her money the other day. Her whole social security check. We looked all over for it.” He said pointing down the street to Mrs. Tibbet’s domicile. Six hundred dollars was her whole check, wow. Wait, I’m still not convinced it was her money I found, after all,  the waif didn’t mention an amount; it could just be a coincidence, albeit a tremendously huge coincidence.

Gulp. I glanced down at my bible on the end table by the door, still secreting the envelope of money.  Of course Scruffy had to be sitting there, head tilted. Watching me intently he stretched up and placed a paw on my bible. Now I knew I had to do the right thing. It was as plain as the nose on Scruffy’s face.

I took a deep breath and asked, “How much do you charge?”

With a sigh of relief, feeling he was winning me over, he answered, “Is fifteen dollars too much?” then he quickly inserted, “That’s for the front and back yard!” I had a gigantic back yard. If he’d seen it he wouldn’t have been so bighearted, but he needed to learn business acumen and how else but by making mistakes in judgment? He’d still be ahead by fifteen dollars. More than he’d have if I said no.

“Alright, but you be careful,” I admonished. “I’ll pay you when you’re through.” I stated. Well that was getting off cheap.

Scruffy stared up at me:  was he judging me again? I stared back at him and stated,” Maybe I’ll throw in some lunch and snacks into the bargain, with something he can take home for his grandmother.  She has got to learn to be more responsible with her cash withdrawals, next month she’ll be more alert, she won’t be so casual in regard with her material things.” Scruffy raised one eyebrow, shook his head woefully and trotted off. Why was I having this conversation with a dog? Why am I talking to myself now?

Wednesday night I packed my bible up that was still where I’d placed it days ago, untouched, retrieved the envelope out of its pages, deposited the envelope in my purse and headed for bible study at church.

There were neighborhood kids in the parking lot playing basketball with the church’s basketball net. We kept it there for our youth and also the area youngsters to keep them off the streets and out of trouble. I set my purse on the ground by my car door while I locked up. I didn’t trust the unknown adolescents and their backgrounds. Most of them looked like our future jail population: already tattooed and dressed for the part with shorts that had waistbands that fell around their knees so their plaid boxers could be flaunted, at least they were wearing boxers. Our church was in a struggling locality, a textbook place for Christian service, and personal danger, which is why I carried a small mace pen.  If I couldn’t win them for Christ, I’d blind them for Satan.

I dashed into the church hoping to be unnoticed by the “gangsta”  looking basketball players and found my bible study class. I just loved bible study, especially when we shared opinions and and feelings.  It made me feel spiritually close to God being with other believers.

I had just sat down an opened my bible when I heard someone in the hallway asking questions about a middle aged brunette wearing jeans and red tee shirt. I looked down at my get-up, sounded like I could be who they were talking about, except I wasn’t really a brunette, not any more, I was a store bought pseudo-brunette. Stepping out in the hall to investigate I saw a young man from the parking lot with permanent  ink all over his arms talking to one of the deacons. The young man was holding my purse in his left hand. OMG! I had left it on the ground by my car instead of hiding it in my trunk. How careless could I be? It had all my money and identification in it, the perfect jackpot for an identity thief.  How could I have been so lax?

The young man spotted me, politely excused himself from the deacon’s presence and walking over he extended my purse towards me with this explanation, “I noticed you forgot this outside. You should be more careful; my grandmother did the same thing last week with her paycheck and lost all her money. I would hate to see anyone else go through what she’s gone through this week.” Scruffy’s face flashed uninvited through my mind.

I accepted my purse with immense gratitude and a myriad of percolating emotions. I didn’t even bother to check the contents for missing items. I was positive nothing had been touched. The envelope was still securely mine. The young man had no way of knowing his grandmother’s meager earnings had just been in his possession for a brief period of time.  But I knew, and I’m guessing it was no secret from ….HIM…The ALMIGHTY….GOD HIMSELF.  I had a stomach-churning feeling I was supposed to be getting some divine message, here in his house, a house of worship. A home for sinners. See, I have learned somethings from bible study. Now it was time to put some of it into action.  However I was hindered from immediate action by shame and embarrassment.  After all, what was I supposed to say, “Oh here by the way I think I found that money your grandmother lost?”

The next day I revisited the bank and explained I had found an envelope with money in the parking lot and suspected I knew who had dropped it, without giving too many details that would make me look culpable. The bank clerk exclaimed she thought I was right because Mrs. Tibbet had been back asking if anyone had turned the envelope in. She had offered a reward if someone found it but felt certain she would never see it again. The clerk then pulled out fifty dollars from her till to make change for an hundred and handed it to me.

“Oh no, that wouldn’t be right, could you please just make sure Mrs. Tibbet gets this back,” I asked feeling expansive, not to mention just  a little afraid of God’s reaction if I accepted a reward from a woman raising two upstanding teenagers with such a meager income.

When Mrs.Tibbet opened the envelope that afternoon after the bank clerk called her she was downright amazed to see that her six hundred dollars had miraculously doubled.

That night Scruffy climbed into bed with me and snuggled up under my arms. Good grief, why do I feel like he’s just forgiven me? He’s just a dog after all. I encircled him with my arms and fell soundly asleep, more soundly than I had in the past week with my mostly muddled conscience.

 

John 8:9

John 16:8

Acts 24:16

Titus 1:15

Heb 13:8

1 peter 3:15-16

1 john 3:20

 

 

the ICU assignment (tabitha's death)

The ICU Assignment I was floating in front of a giant mirror that was also suspended in the air, preening. I had just had my wings done and was trying to evaluate my opinion of them. I'm the first angel ever to have two strand twists done on their wings and it was taking some getting used to. And yes, I said two strand twists. My fellow angels complained endlessly about my large wings and the devastating effects they had on my surroundings. I'm not the most graceful of angels and was continuously disrupting my environment whenever I took off, landed, walked through a room, flew over a continent...I've been personally responsible for a few tsunamis and hurricanes, which have adversely affected my yearly performance evaluations, but I came in extremely handy whenever the Highest wanted to mete out judgment on sinful nations. Some of my workmates walked past and took a double take, then doubled the double take. Soon a crowd of finger pointing, whispering, angels had gathered. I did not like being the center of attention, something I should have thought of when I decided to be the first to get my wings “twisted”. The crowd disbanded rapidly when Boss arrived, he was totally against bullying in the work place, Oh, if I could only get alone with him for a few seconds, the stories I could tell, if I were a gossip that is. Boss handed me my assignments for the day after graciously pretending to not notice my wings. Boss was the incarnation of graciousness. I guess that covers the motto "if you can't say something nice about someone don't say anything at all." Well I was still going to give it a try; it was too soon to just give it up. I flipped through the list of my day’s duties, I was assigned to the intensive care unit today, a unit designed to help mortals during arduous times, and cringed. This couldn't be right. I looked for Boss to verify what I was reading but he had already left the building with Elvis, someone had to keep an eye on Elvis constantly, he kept popping up all over the place, at gas stations and such, bamboozling people. Plus Boss was a big fan of Elvis; he would tear up real good when Elvis sang his gospel selections. I fleetingly popped into the reception rooms just inside of the pearly gates, all twelve of them, till I saw Her. Yep, it was true; as if He ever made a mistake. I thought She had been too young at forty, though I knew full well there is no such thing as too young, but there She was, just inside St Peter’s gate, mingling excitedly with her more immediate family unit, her face glowing on her new terrestrial body which was clothed in the white linen of the overcomers. This was above and beyond a fantastic day for Her but for those…OMG. I better get going! I went to the takeoff terminal and dove off. This is where I encountered a mild unexpected malfunction. I pummeled to my destination in very awkward and undignified manner, something I hadn’t thought through about a “two strand twisted” set of wings was….they don’t function. I landed at my goal, a little off course because of my faulty navigation system, disheveled and flustered. I quickly regrouped and looked around for witnesses, thank heavens no one saw me, no one except all my coworkers at the takeoff terminal which included the hole host of heaven.  Their laughter was still ringing in my ears. I stood up and looked around. I could hear Her little poodle mix barking in the hallway outside Her bedroom, she wanted in real bad, then I heard the front door open accompanied by voices. Someone called out Her name and opened the bedroom door, but not wide enough as I was blocking it to give myself time to recover from my flustered dishevelment.  Another voice declared, “She’s not here, she’s out with a friend.” Then the door shut again giving me time to undo my wings. I’ve had enough time to evaluate them now, and the results were a resounding thumbs down. After a few more minutes the door reopened, “I’m going to take a picture of Tabby’s room to show Mark, he’ll never believe how dirty she has gotten her new apartment in just a few short weeks!” Her mom said, right before she halted. As the door opened further than it had earlier she noticed the pile between Her bed and the wall. “Oh my gosh! Greg, is that ….” Mom couldn’t finish her sentence because she instinctively knew. Something icy ran through her blood to confirm what she didn’t want to believe and I was there, with my massive wings, to prevent her from crossing the threshold, I had also dimmed the lights because there no need to see everything. What Mom saw was her daughter’s body lying on the floor in a fetal position, where it had landed after she passed away silently and quietly on her bed, from my calculations a few days ago. A somewhat controlled pandemonium broke loose as Mom registered the impact of her discovery, her baby girl was gone! Mom immediately, with minimum albeit definite hysterics, called 911 knowing that She was past the scope of human intervention. Since heaven finally caught up with the digital age I pulled out my communication system to start getting reinforcements just as Mom called her place of employment, then posted on Facebook her awful discovery. Facebook: that wonderfully human mode of mass communication, if properly used it helps us with our work, making it possible to spend our resources directly on the bereaved. It wasn’t long before helpers arrived, visible and invisible, Mom’s best friend from work and heavily armed hosts of heaven’s Calvary to fight off the vultures from…that hot place…that enjoy attacking humans at their weakest. We let mom cry (as though we could stop her), wail and continuously hug her son, Greg who was in shock. Greg had been in Her apartment sleeping on the couch with the impression She had gone out with a friend for the weekend, yet she had passed away quietly on her bed and rolled onto the floor just feet from him behind a closed door. He was going to need a few members  from my unit to stay with him for an undetermined time. I motioned several winged care givers over to him with my wings. Mom and son eventually made it home, after She had been removed and sent to the medical examiners for identification. Many friends, who had been receptive to whispered instructions from their guardian angels, arrived in shifts to offer help and bring food. Mom was so heartbroken her head started to hurt from weeping so much so she had to retreat to her sanctuary to recuperate; she was convinced she’d never be the same again. She lay down on her bed where she nestled unknowingly into my soft wings. All she could think of was her baby dying alone, all alone, so very alone. She kept pleading for a sign that that hadn’t been the case. I managed to soothe her into a temporary oblivion by engulfing her in my colossal wings that had been powdered with sleeping dust as I also shielded her from the adversary’s strikes. It never ceased to be satisfying to watch him and his pathetic cohorts slither away sputtering out impotent curses at me. Ignoring him has always been the best tactic, being ignored infuriates him. I had my job cut out for me, reassurance, comfort, healing. I went back to the apartment before Mom the next day; I had to make sure everything was in place. She hadn’t been in the apartment long and had not unpacked much, so I had to make sure Mom found her answers easily and in a timely manner. Mom started grabbing unpacked boxes and carrying them out to her car. She didn’t even look at the contents; it was too emotionally hard for her now. Oops, I caused her to trip over my left wing and stumble on to Her bed, I’m such a klultz. Mom spotted it almost immediately, one of Her bibles, there on the bed by Her pillow, on the bed she passed away on. Mom scanned through it, OMG all the notes and pictures She had filled the pages with. Mom sighed with relief, wow; She really had read Her bible after she grew up. Mom found several other well used bibles after that scattered about the apartment, well used with many passages highlighted and chocked-full of inspirational notes. Mom clasped the bibles to her chest to absorb comfort from her findings. Mom was ready to call it quits for the day but I wasn’t, there was more….a little whisper in the ear and …mom went back to the bedroom. I flipped my right wing under her chin to tilt it up and ….there, she spotted them. On the shelf in the closet were several spiral index card binders filled with …OMG, biblical art work and bible verses, what a gift! Seven books filled with Her art work and bible stories, more evidence of her relationship with Him. Mom couldn’t have asked for more but I had one more surprise in store for her. Come on, this gets to be gratifying, helping people through grief, what more rewarding job can an angel have? I can be pretty creative if I do say so myself. Good Friday was coming up. How in the world did the day Jesus die come to be known as Good Friday? I remember that day well, the sun stopped shining for hours while he hung on a cross, tired, thirsty, in extreme pain, carrying the sins of all mankind. The Highest Himself hid his face from us during the appalling day that His son suffered from the iniquities of an alienated humanity. Good Friday? Really. I must admit some denominations get close to the meaning of what we like to refer to as Holy Friday by observing three hours of silence and fasting in the afternoon. Well I digresses somewhat, as is my habit, as is also pointed out to me at eval time,  so back to the point….On “Good Friday”, two days before Easter and twenty three days after She entered the pearly gates, Mom flipped through one of Her bibles, well she picked it up but I made sure what page it opened on, Acts 9:36-43. Mom’s eyes went right to the top of the page where She had written, “Tabitha raised from the dead by Peter”. Mom couldn’t deny the message. Her daughter, Tabby was named after this biblical Tabitha! And here it was in Tabitha’s own handwriting, She was raised from the dead by Peter. Peter had escorted her to heaven, no mistake about it and with a few sightings of Owls I had given Mom at the appropriate time, when she selected the guest book and thank you cards, I had her convinced, rightfully convinced, that Peter and her own mother (whose memory was evoked by Owl sightings) had escorted Tabby to the kingdom. She had not died alone. “For though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me” are not just pretty words; they were inspired by Himself to give consolation to suffering believers through many generations. Well, my job here is done so I headed back to the office, if you can call a space with wispy, transparent, movable walls an office,  to wind up the progress notes. A Tabitha so radiant she would have been unrecognizable to her mortal family, was there waiting for me, eager to hear about the family she left behind and how they were coping. I assured her she could ask one of them herself because Mom and her escorts were just arriving at gate nine; don’t be alarmed, numerous decades have expired down on earth already. After Tabitha joyfully left my office to welcome her mother, I saw it. Oh very funny. While I was busy my unassigned colleagues must have had way too much free time. In the corner of my office was a life size cardboard replica of me smothered with hundreds of signatures; me just after takeoff with a startled expression on my face as I plunged to earth with my faulty wings tied behind my back. I must admit, it was worth a giggle, and then another, then I had difficulty suppressing my laughter, didn’t want to spoil everyone’s good natured fun by being amused at myself. Boss passed by just as I was trying to shove the image of me into my filing cabinet. He paused long enough to give me the “one raised eyebrow” look and continue on. Does anything ever get past him? Somewhere in the background I heard Elvis singing “How Great Thou Art,” and I pictured a small tear slide down Boss’s cheek.