For every occasion and sometimes for no reason at all, my husband, Philip, surprised me with angels. From ceramic and porcelain figurines to snow globes, even a Christmas angel made of red feathers.
Philip’s gifts made life fun. When he died seven years ago it broke my heart to know I’d never receive another angel from him.
“Why don’t you come to the seniors’ retreat with me?” a friend asked one day. I agreed, but secretly I couldn’t imagine having fun without Philip.
The day before the trip, I vacuumed and cleaned my car. Early the next morning I put my suitcase in the backseat and set my water bottle in the cup holder.
I felt something at the bottom. A tiny wooden angel! She was bright blue with red polka-dot wings, holding a child wrapped safely like a papoose. Where did this come from? I wondered.
I took the angel along to the retreat. I missed Philip every day, but I felt comforted. Just like that child protected by the angel.
Back home, I carried my luggage inside. Stumbling in the darkness to turn on the light, I stepped on something on the kitchen floor. The little blue angel!
How she’d gotten from my car to the kitchen, I’m not sure. But I do know that angel was sent from heaven. One last gift from my Philip.
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