Eva

Dear Students, Eva's husband, who was a musician, had a stroke and could no longer move or speak or eat. He could communicate with his eyes. He had a feeding tube, but decided he did not want to live that way, and not being able to play his music. He asked that the feeding tube be removed. Now he has passed into the light. While his body is no longer here, the spirit can never die. Life is fragile. At least we have our school, where we can always receive the love and support of each other and the angels. In honor of Bernd's passing, here is something I wrote when my young nephew, Sean, died from leukemia. Perhaps you have read it before; I don't remember if I ever posted it here:
 

THE GUARDIAN ANGEL                                                   

     

      The angel had been bound to earth for hundreds of years, yet the angel lived in patience where time did not exist. For eons the angel had been speaking to humans, whispering words of love and encouragement into their ears. Most of the time, no one heard, though now and then, the angel saw in someone's eyes a glimmer of understanding.

      This angel was presently guarding a small child, whose skin was white as snow, though it was no fairy tale, for the child had been sick with some earthly disease for a long time. The child lay in a bed, blending into white sheets, surrounded by family members who were trying not to cry. And the child, who knew what courage was, whispered, “It is okay to cry because I am going away.”

      And the angel smiled and wrapped its love around the boy and touched the hearts of his parents, grandparents, and little brothers. As the angel touched their hearts, it knew the anguish in those hearts. The angel could have moved away, spared itself this pain, but it only moved closer, giving of its strength. The child's father forgot not to cry. Tears fell down his unshaven face. The little boy wanted to reach up and touch that face one last time, but he had no strength. Sensing this, the unseen angel helped the boy raise his arm. As the child touched his father's scratchy wet face one last time, father and son felt a great peace, for the truth of tears was better than the pretense of smiles.

      Then the mother cradled her child in her arms. The grandparents cradled their own children, this mother and father. And the angel of God bound them all together with its love and spoke to the child, saying, “It is time.” The child heard a voice like bells and looked upon the face of the angel for the first time. The family could not see the angel, but they saw the years of pain and fighting the disease fade away as the child's face began to glow.

      “I will show you,” smiled the angel, forgetting everything now except the child. “Look!” The angel pointed to the light. Seeing the light, the boy breathed a last sigh and closed his eyes in peace.

      The angel departed with the soul essence of the child, guiding him to the light. And the family was not alone. The room was alive with angels, embracing the family, whispering words of love, holding their sorrow, taking what pain they could unto themselves.

      As the angel guided the child to the Light, the angel felt the power of the Light, and longed to return to the Light, but its task was upon earth. The angel did not linger in pain or longing. It lovingly watched the boy merge into the Light, then turned and made its way back to earth.

     The angel did not stop to ask why, did not hesitate, did not question the way of the world or of God. It simply went on to its next task. It was just in time to catch a young teenager as she fell from a speeding car, whose door had become unlatched. The girl would later tell a wondrous story of a being of light that caught her in its arms, saving her from the hard pavement of the road. And the angel was already gone, onto its next task, fully present in the moment.

 *****

This story came to me in its entirety following the death of my young nephew, Sean, from leukemia. I was on tour in Europe at the time. When I received word that he had died, I sat down and wrote this story. It was a gift I received at his passing into another realm. When I returned home, I was told that although his father, my brother, was unable to make it to the hospital before Sean died, the nurses insisted, “But we saw you there, holding your son's hand and talking with him.”

*****

The love and blessings of angels are with you now and always.