Strength Of An Angel

As I walked down the cement sidewalk to the screen door, the feeling of sorrow overwhelmed me. It was the first day in three weeks Becky's daycare had been open. Like always, the front yard was sprinkled with footballs, soccer balls, and red tricycles; but one thing was different, Becky's seventeen year old daughter was not there. Three weeks earlier she passed away in car accident. I knew Becky might not be the same person she was nearly a month ago, and that there may be some more changes down the road.

I did not anticipate following her down a path where she would introduce me to "true" strength, power and faith. This can be achieved by teaching others of what you have lost. Helping others gain in a time where you should be the one sitting in the corner is a characteristic that everybody should try and obtain.

From the moment I stepped back in to the split level house the atmosphere was still filled with sadness, and rightfully so. In the six years of attending daycare Becky would always stand at the top of the stairs in her every day, loose blue jeans matched with a long sleeve knitted blouse. Her chestnut colored hair shimmered in the florescent light as she eagerly anticipated our arrival. Today would be different.

Shoved in the corner of the room was a wooden rocking chair covered in a light blue finish, where Becky for the first time sat to greet us. No longer awaiting our entrance at the top of the stairs, she was now waiting for our arrival in a chair where her short, stubby legs hovered over the pale, cream carpet, washed in stains of children spills. Her mind was somewhere else. As a distraction in her train of thought she started fiddling with a cross connected to a golden necklace.

No longer did the giggles and laughs fill the room. The room was silent. The only noise heard throughout the family room was the ticking of her oversized wrist watch.

"Oh, hi kids," Becky said, breaking the awkward silence with a slight whisper.

"Hey Bec," my brother and I responded, trying not to seem too energetic. She gave us a slight smile, barely showing the stained yellow teeth that lay underneath the bright, red lipstick. As she slowly walked down the stairs, towards us, it seemed like heavy, metal shackles were restraining her from her typical bouncy step.

Even though this was all different, the smell of her fruity perfume wafted in after her like it always had. A slim, but strong body reached out to my brother and me and embraced us in a long, caring hug. This was the last time we consoled each other on the matter because of the strength she later displayed.

Once she released us from her quickly aging, fair skinned arms, I saw the golden necklace up close. K.M.F, the initials of her daughter, was written in cursive along the face of the cross. Becky rarely use to display objects reflecting her religion, but that all seemed to change within three the past weeks.

As I walked up the stairs there was a new, wooden blue sign hanging over the kitchen entrance. It read, "All Angels