An Angel in the Room

I wrote another version of this story from my viewpoint in Spooked by An Angel earlier this year. I rewrote the story from the viewpoint of my mother who told me the story originally. I submitted this article to Guideposts Magazine. It’s been accepted for publication in one of their sister publications, Angels on Earth. 

Early one morning, my mother spoke. That statement doesn’t seem out of the ordinary. Mothers talk every morning, all over the world.

My ninety-three year old mother, Adele, hadn’t spoken in nearly three years. She had never been talkative, and as the years wore on, she spoke less and less. One day, she quit speaking completely. There wasn’t an obvious reason, like a stroke, to explain her silence. I think she just ran out of things to say as she got older.

Then, one morning, living quietly in a nursing home in Louisiana, my mother spoke. That morning her roommate had died. The nurse closed the curtain around the deceased woman. No one told my mother that her roommate had died.

My silent mother spoke.

“There’s an angel in the room,” she said to the nurse in the room.

In fact, every time another person entered the room, she repeated her words.

“There’s an angel in the room,” she said.

When I arrived later that morning to visit, my mother was still in bed, in her nightgown with long braids lying across her shoulders. I walked to the nurses’ station to ask why hadn’t anyone helped my mother that morning.

The nursing supervisor overheard me talking to the assistants at the front counter and walked out of the inner office.

“Mrs. Matherne,” she said, “we will attend to your mother shortly. Right now, I am having trouble finding a staff member who will go into her room. Let me explain to you what staff members are saying about your mother.”

During the morning, word had spread through the nursing home of the mute woman who had spoken of an angel. As I walked back towards my mother’s room, the daughter of the deceased woman met me in the hall.

“Did you hear about your mother?” she said. “I have been praying every morning for a sign that my mother would go to heaven. Your mother’s words were my sign.”

I didn’t know what to say. My mother was a spiritual person, but she had never spoken about angels or visions before. I thought about what I had heard. It seemed impossible to believe. Perhaps the story was just a result of overwork, lack of sleep, and excess emotion on the part of the staff, I reasoned to myself.

I questioned my mother hoping she would speak to me. She never said a word. Soon, two assistants came into the room to help change my mother into her dress and help her into her day chair. Still, my mother had nothing to say.

I stayed until lunch was served. As I helped her with the meal, I tried to engage my mother in conversation, asking her about her meal, the weather, and again, of the events of the previous night. She said nothing.

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My Mother Years Before She Saw An Angel

I left the nursing home and drove home. As I drove, I thought about the morning’s events. I had studied the Bible throughout my life. I believed in God and angels. I had to admit that it was possible that the story of my mother speaking in the night of an angelic encounter was true.

For certain, I know two things. I know that the story brought comfort to a grieving daughter who saw the event as a sign from God. Secondly, I know that mother never spoke again after that morning. She died quietly at the age of ninety-seven.

Thoughts on Being Home

I’ve recently returned home from a trip to Disney World. After a week away, I had a list of tasks that are common when returning home, such as collecting the mail, watering houseplants, and answering email. All are part of being home again. There’s the rhythm of normalcy that comes from being home again. I like simple pleasures such as sleeping in my own bed and fixing my own coffee first thing in the morning.

While I was away cavorting with Mickey and his pals, Louisiana State University’s football team beat Alabama. That’s big news in Louisiana. The two football teams duked it out in Tuscaloosa, Alabama last weekend. We were the underdogs. LSU wasn’t expected to win, but we beat ‘Bama. Now, LSU is rated number one in the country. It was a good feeling when I came home knowing that my home state was first in college football rankings.

I want to hold on to some happy feelings about Louisiana because otherwise, the news about the state is alarming. This week an article from US News & World Report ranked Louisiana as the worst state in the nation. The magazine editors considered things like education, job growth, health care, opportunity and crime. There’s a US map on the magazine’s website with a big 50 emblazoned on my home state. We even beat Alabama for last place. Alabama is 49. Number one is Washington

A final note on being home: my dear friend, Sandra, passed away this week. She had battled breast cancer for over fifteen years. The cancer spread to her liver a few years ago, yet she had good health almost to the very end. She had been aware, as she told me a few months sago, “that the pages are turning faster.” She knew that even though her oncologist kept using different tools from his toolbox, as he phrased it, that her time was limited. She’s home now. In heaven.

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The Hardy Plank house that is my home, at least for now.

I believe in heaven. I don’t know a lot about it, as the Bible isn’t as specific as I’d like it to be on that subject. It’s just a gut feeling I have that heaven exists. Even when I am feeling most at home in my own house, comfortably settled in my daily routines, something seems not quite right. Something’s askew. That’s because there’s more.  There’s another dimension. There’s another reality beyond this one. There’s a place that God calls to me to my permanent home. When my thoughts turn homeward, I know it’s not just to a house made of Hardy Plank siding in Abita Springs, Louisiana, but to another home that is just beyond my grasp, where God dwells.

If you’re unsure how you feel about heaven, that old-fashioned solace of the ancients, I invite you to listen to this song with the refrain, You’re calling me, I’m coming home. It’s not too other-worldly, because as far as I know, heaven may be all around now, just in another dimension.

 

 

Spooked by an Angel

Gabriel_from_Vysotsky_chin_(14c,_Tretyakov_gallery)This is a true story.

One night, my grandma spoke.

So what, you might say.  Grandmas talk every night, all over the world.

My ninety-three year old grandma, Adele, hadn’t spoken in over five years. She had never been a big talker, and as the years wore on, she spoke less and less. One day, she quit speaking completely. There wasn’t an obvious reason, like a stroke, to explain her silence. I think she just ran out of things to say as she got older.

Then, one night, living quietly in a nursing home, she spoke about an angel. As nurses and aides entered and left her room to attend to her very ill roommate, she spoke.

“Do you see the angel? He’s here to take that lady home,” she said over and over.

Before the night ended and morning came, my grandma’s roommate died.

Word spread through the nursing home of the mute woman who had spoken of an angel waiting to take a soul. When the morning shift arrived, the nursing assistants refused to enter my grandma’s room.

When my mother had arrived that morning to visit, my grandma was still in bed, in her nightgown with long braids laying across her shoulders. No one wanted to assist my grandmother. They were spooked by angel talk.

Days later, the daughter of the deceased contacted my mother. She was confident that my grandma’s words were her answer to prayer. She had been praying fervently for a sign that her mama would go to heaven when she died.

Grandma’s words were her sign, she said.

Grandma never spoke again. She died quietly at the age of 98.