Angels

Back in August, my aunt sent me an angel. It's small, and I think it's a Christmas ornament. Made out of stained-glass, with a colorful piece of yarn to hang it with. I started carrying it around in my pocket. Whenever I got sad, or even if I just wanted to remember her/him, I would reach in my pocket and touch the smooth pieces of glass, and it was very calming to me.

Recently, it broke.  Just like my baby.  I didn't cry, but I remember feeling sad... and also strangely at peace because I remembered the doctor told us there must have been something terribly wrong with the baby because of the circumstances of the m.c. (the timing, the measurements, etc.) 

Broken angel just makes more sense, I guess.

Recently, a sweet lady I've known for years handed me something through the window at the drive-thru of my favorite Christian chicken restaurant.  She pulled a beaded bracelet off her wrist and gave it to me.  It had tiny black beads on a stretchy band and a glass angel was the centerpiece. I was speechless but then I said, "Are you sure?" She said yes and that she makes them.

I knew exactly who it was really for.

Several weeks ago, and pretty soon after I got back to feeling normal, one of my piano students became ill and ended up in the hospital.  Like me, she glanced at death's door a couple of times.  She was returning to her lessons this week, and I thought that would be the perfect gift for her, and I will probably buy another one from the sweet chicken lady.  My student received her gift with a big smile, and I know that she had a swarm of guardian angels protecting her lately, and I told her just that.

I still love my broken angel.  I will always love her/him.  Sometimes, fixing something isn't the solution.  It's letting it be broken.