So I don’t know any other way to get through this except to write it. Write every tear. Write every painful breath. Write every feeling of loss and loneliness. Write the hurt. Write the fears. Write…
I was a lucky child in that when my parents were unable or didn’t want to take care of me, I was rescued. So many are never rescued. They have to stay and endure the abuse, the suffering, the assault. I endured. I was a victim of it, but God sent me an Angel that wouldn’t allow me to stay in it. She swooped down and told them no. They couldn’t have me, they couldn’t take me. They couldn’t break me. In light of my surroundings at the time, and the fact that I come from a line of addictive behaviors, I have no doubt that I would’ve been strung out, liquored up, and promiscuous had it not been for her.
By the time I was 7 years old, I had seen more, participated in more, and lived through more than most adults had in a lifetime. It was confusing. It was hard to process. It was my shame, my guilt, my life. But my Angel whisked me away. She loved on me, and prayed for me. She was there when I cried. She was there when I wanted her to go away. She NEVER left my side. EVER.
As I think back on it now, it was really a match made in heaven. There are so many that will never understand our relationship, but I now realize that she needed me just as much as I needed her. She doted on me like I doted on her. Somehow, I rescued her too that day when protective services threatened to take me away from my unfit mother. She was the key that unlocked my prison. I was the redemption that gave her a second chance.
My Angel taught me what love is. Both from showering it on me in it’s purest form, and by introducing me to the God of love. Teaching me how to have a relationship with Him. Insisting that I lean and depend on Him. Leading by example in every facet of her life. Was she perfect? No. Was she perfect for me? ABSOLUTELY. I know that sometimes she didn’t know what to do with this damaged little girl. This little girl with a broken heart. This confused little girl.This pig-headed, strong willed little girl. This rebel. But I watched and heard her pray through it. I felt deep inside of myself the results of those prayers.
I remember when I was a very young girl, just a little girl, I prayed. I asked God not to take her away from me until I was ready. Until I could handle life, walk through life without her. Many times my Angel walked hand in hand with Death. Had long conversations with him. Looked at his hand when he reached it out, and all of those times, she turned away. She came back to me. So on some faraway level that I don’t want to acknowledge, I have to believe that He deemed me ready. He has always answered my prayers when it came to her. And I have to believe that He answers them still.
3 years ago, when things started going downhill, I finally admitted to myself that she would have to leave me one day. That I’d have to rub my own stubbed toe; that I’d have to find someone else to call when I needed to scream and holler; that I’d need a different lap to lay on when I cried; different hands to pat and rub my head, and wipe my tears away. That she’d be gone. But even though I knew, nothing prepared me for this void, this emptiness, this pain. There is no book, no scripture, no cliche, nothing even remotely close to explaining the feelings I’m experiencing right now.
I’m torn. I didn’t want her to stay. She’d been suffering, fighting for so long. Her body deteriorating, all her friends dying, her independence stolen. I know that she is exactly where she wants to be. She’s with her Father, her Creator, her Savior. He for whom she’s lived, taught us about, trusted blindly to carry her through it all. And He did. Yet, I needed her to stay. I needed one last conversation. One last run to the gas station for her Black and Milds, after I told her I wasn’t gonna get them. One last meal that she bugged me til I cooked, but then could barely eat. One last time where she fussed at me for something that I didn’t do. One last nuzzle of her neck that made her giggle like a little girl. One last time of me fussing at her for hurting people’s feelings out here because she said everything that came to her mind; no filter. At least one time to say goodbye. To hold her hand, kiss her knuckles, smell her scent, kiss her head. One last time to absorb all the things that made her who she was. One last time to tell her that I love her more than anything. One last time to tell her thank you, for loving me enough to give me every part of her without condition. Just one more.
The only consolation that I have right now, besides the fact that she is walking those streets of gold, is that I told her all of these things in life. I never missed an opportunity to tell or show her how much she meant to me. I didn’t care if she was mad at me, if I was mad at her, if she didn’t want to talk to me, I made sure that she knew. I told her on every opportunity that I got. I spoiled her in every way that I could. I taught my kids to love, honor and respect her, and they did. They loved her with all of their hearts. I fought for her, fought with her, fussed and cussed for her, threatened people about her, held her down in every possible way, until it was time for her to go.
I often say that you can’t guilt the guiltless. I am so grateful that I have no guilt, no feelings about what I didn’t do or should’ve done, no bad feelings because I didn’t do what I was supposed to do. I have peace in knowing that I honored her in life the same way that I am honoring her now, as she passes over. I know that she loved me. I know that I was her baby. I know that it was me she rescued, and that makes me special. I know that she prayed for me. I know that she interceded on my behalf many a night, and had it not been for that, the trials that I made it through would’ve been much worse. I know that she was an anomaly, a jewel, an Angel. To sit at her feet was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and those of us that have been reared under her are blessed in ways we still have yet to understand.
Her name lives. Her legacy lives. Her love lives. Her blood lives. My Angel on Earth is now my Angel in Heaven, and I love her now more than ever. I am her story.
For all that you are, for all that you’ve been, for all that you’ve given:
I love you till the wheels fall off, and then? I’ll see you again. Don’t rest in peace. Relish in Paradise.