BY THE HAND OF AN ANGEL
The coffin was painted blue, decorated with flowers, little stars and winged beings in bright hues. The original exterior – boring white – was dressed in the colors of life, which was a good thing because the person in the casket was not boring either. The woman who rested peacefully within had been overflowing with action, cheerfulness, determination and perseverance. Even from the other side, her optimism broke through the sadness of those present, showering them in sunny African music. Her three beloved granddaughters were sitting on the bench right next to her, their long golden hair united in braided accents, with their mothers protective at their side.
It was quiet. A subdued silence that waited breathlessly. The spell was broken by the sympathetic voice of the minister, who led through the woman’s life. A life with good and bad times, but always lived by one motto: all will be well! Slowly the voices of the choir faded away, voices she had been part of. Now there was a void only she had been able to fill, her voice a tone that stood out by absence.
The sermon was almost at its end and the moment of parting finally came closer – too close, unrelenting and grim. Love nor desire could stop time. Relatives and friends walked towards the blue coffin to pay their last respect, their sadness etching deep, by tears intersected lines. When the last walked out the door, the family looked at each other, desperate with grief. Last weeks’ haze was suddenly wiped away by reality, a gruesome and uninvited guest. Was this really the end? Their Mom was lying there, Granny! They stood around the casket and held each others hands, quiet, waiting, not able to let go.
Then an almost imperceptible vibration, and with a soft rustle of wings the silence came to life. A slight shudder ran through them. Was it their imagination? But no, they all heard it, felt it! Right in front of them the light changed into a new shape, painting a woman who shone in the silver glow. Light enveloped her now frail form with a hint of wings. Her radiant smile bathed her girls in peacefulness for the last time and in her own resolute way she took the hand that was offered her from within the light. The woman – their mother and grandmother – was led away by the hand of an Angel. Angels in whom she had always firmly believed. From afar one last echo in her unique timbre.
Remember to live your life well!
Written for my dear friend Nancy, who lost her mother last week.
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I will still share my thoughts with you here, at Figments of a Dutchess, whenever the need arises. Plus write a post once a week. Thank you all for staying with me daily. And though the frequency will be less, the intensity and joy will stay.
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