An Angel on My Shoulder. Theresa Cheung
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night he got really savage. I don’t remember much after that but when I woke up I was lying on the kitchen floor and I couldn’t see anything because blood was covering my eyes. Every part of my body ached, but the place I hurt the most was in my heart. I started to cry and the tears cleared my vision. I put my thumb in my mouth and began to gently rock myself.
At that instant the atmosphere in my kitchen seemed to change and I felt my mum’s presence. I didn’t see her or hear her, but I knew she was beside me. I was filled with a sensation of love. I felt strong arms gently encircling me and holding me tight. There was no one in the room with me at the time and in my mind I know it was my mum. She was telling me that I was not and never would be alone.
All this happened five years ago, but I can still close my eyes and remember the feeling of being held gently in my mum’s arms. Her love that day gave me the incentive I needed to leave Dan and report him to the police. Her love gave me the courage I needed to stay away from destructive relationships. Today my life is full, even though I am not in a relationship. I feel strong and optimistic. I’m not afraid of being by myself anymore because I’m confident in the knowledge that my mum is always with me and I’m never alone.
Lisa’s story is similar to many others I have collected over the years in which the spirit of a lost loved one returns briefly to offer strength in times of crisis. The return typically only lasts a split-second, but it is long enough to bring comfort and hope for the future. These stories are a source of great comfort because they show that even though we may not always see them, angels are with us during times of need.
After being told that her five-year-old son, Thomas, had slipped into a coma, Sheila felt a magical, loving presence which gave her the courage and the strength she had previously lacked.
Quietly Slipping Away
I was inconsolable when my five-year-old son Thomas went into a coma. The doctors told me the meningitis had taken a firm hold. His chances of survival depended on how strong his little body’s immune system was, but the prognosis was not good. There was little chance of him ever waking up again and I was told that he was quietly slipping away.
How could I ever get past this and go on? I didn’t know if I had the strength. I sat by my son’s bed. It was getting dark outside and inside. I felt numb. I sat there and waited.
At around 9 p.m. Thomas started to twitch. Then he opened his eyes and started to say in a weak voice, ‘Mummy, I want to stay with you. I’m frightened. The angels want me to come with them.’
I lay down beside Thomas in his bed and held and kissed him. I’m not religious, but I begged the angels to let me keep my son. I pleaded and I sobbed, but deep down I knew that this was a battle I didn’t have any say in.
I looked at Thomas again. His eyes were closed again but he was smiling. I knew this was it and I couldn’t accept it. I picked Thomas up and held him to me, ignoring all the tubes and equipment. As I held him, his little life flashed through my head in pictures. I saw him kicking his first football, stamping his foot when I wouldn’t give him seconds, laughing when I blew on his stomach. Then I saw in my head all the things I wanted to see him doing when he got older. I saw him riding a bike, playing in the school football team, running with a kite. I longed with all my heart to see him grow up, but there was nothing I could do. I was helpless. So I did the only thing I could – I held him tight.
After several minutes holding my son’s limp body in my hands I felt as if someone was standing right behind me. I felt a wonderful sense of peace and strength and I knew in that instant that I would have the strength to cope. A sense of calm came over me. I immediately stopped crying and I pictured my son happy and healthy again with the angels in heaven.
I turned around, expecting to see my mum or a doctor there trying to console me, but there was no one there. I believe that it was my guardian angel standing behind me giving me a wonderful sense of peace and hope.
Thomas remained unconscious for the rest of the night but the following morning he shocked everyone, especially me, as I was convinced he had quietly slipped away in the night, when he opened his eyes. The infection that had raged through his body was gone. He looked into my eyes and said, ‘I love you, Mummy,’ and then he looked up at the ceiling and said, ‘I love you too, angel.’
I stroked my son’s hands and face. The happiness and gratitude in my heart felt too much to bear. The angels had listened to the heartfelt longings of an ordinary boy and his mother.
Yes, I believe in angels, but not because of the miracle of my son’s life. After I felt the loving, magical touch of an angel standing behind me I would have believed in angels whatever the outcome.
If we just open our hearts and our minds, angels can bring comfort, peace and healing at the best and worst of times. Here’s Grace’s story:
‘Remember?’
‘Where are my spectacles?’ my dad said, looking confused.
‘They’re on the top of your head,’ I replied. ‘You just pushed them there a moment ago, remember?’
Dad shrugged his shoulders, slipped his spectacles onto his nose and buried his head again in the paper. I bought him a cup of tea and he pushed his spectacles on his head to drink it. I went back into the kitchen but turned back again as he was shouting for me.
‘Grace! Grace! Have you seen my spectacles?’
‘Dad!’ I replied. ‘You just asked me that. They’re on the top of your head, just as they were a moment ago.’
Dad nodded, but he still looked puzzled, and this worried me. Although he was only in his early sixties ever since he had retired he had started to forget things. I’d read about memory loss with age so I decided to encourage him to do some crosswords every day. I also thought about buying him a Nintendo for Christmas so he could do some brain-training exercises.
Then a few weeks later I asked him to pick up my sons, Tom, eleven, and Jack, six, from school. I phoned him in the morning to remind him and he promised he’d be there, but at 4 p.m. I got a phone call from Tom’s form teacher asking when Tom and Jack were going to be picked up. I phoned Dad and he was at home listening to the radio. He couldn’t remember speaking to me in the morning.
A month or so later I got a phone call at work from my next-door neighbours. They had spotted my dad sitting on the floor in our local shopping centre. When they had gone up to him to ask if he was OK he’d had no idea who they were and had started to shout abuse at them. It was terrible seeing my dad deteriorate like this.
It wasn’t long before Dad was diagnosed with the early stages of Alzheimer’s. There were days when he was completely normal but there were also days when he would leave his house and just wander for miles with no idea where he was going. I was concerned for his safety and so he moved in with me and my husband Ben. This arrangement just about worked for 18 months but then Dad started to behave really erratically. Night times were the worst. He would drift around the house rearranging the furniture. He also became incontinent and started to shout at the children and call them names.
I staggered on for the next two years as best I could, but by the time my dad was 65 I was getting desperate. My biggest concern was for the safety of my children, especially now that Dad was lighting matches for no reason. I asked for help from my doctor, but the more I asked, the more tests my dad was sent for and the more forms I had to fill in. I felt trapped.
By this time my dad found it hard to even remember my name. He’d look at me as if I were a stranger, or an enemy. One night when I was trying to get him to rest he started shouting and accusing me of kidnapping him. It took four hours to settle him and I fell into bed in the small hours of the morning, totally burned out. I was so tired that I couldn’t sleep and I just lay there crying. Ever since I’d left school I’d been busy working and earning money and raising a family. I’d stopped thinking about or believing in any higher power, but that night I begged for someone to help me and to help my dad.
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