Angel

Play this song softly with headphones while you read: "Jacob and the Stone" by Emile Mosseri

Tom lays quietly in his hospital bed. The cataracts took his sight completely over the last month or so. His stomach no longer accepts any water or food. His skin is frail as paper and his bones are light as air. 

You’d think at a time like this Tom would be thinking about his adventurous past, or lost in the fears or hopes of his unknown future. And though Tom’s gut may have given up trying to get him to eat by now, it hadn’t quit giving him advice, and it says to him that he can’t venture too far in either direction or he may never come back. 

Tom was blissfully lost in the now. Tom had been wandering here for a while now. You see, losing his sight opened up a whole new world to him. A world where sounds, smells and touch filled the void of his sight.

For the past minute Tom has been listening to the shuffle of the sheets getting tucked around him. In the quiet of the room, there is something so comforting in the way the sound becomes so loud. Like waves of the ocean crashing on the shore, the cotton fibers spark and ruffle as they brush the nurse's skin and Tom’s loosely fitting hospital clothing. 

By the way the nurse's breath aggressively forces its way in and out of her nose, and the soft plush of her hands and forearms, Tom can tell the nurse is a little heavier. 

A faint grumble emanates from Tom’s throat. It sounds embarrassingly like a metal chair sliding across asphalt. The nurse pauses her shuffling. In the brief pause as Tom works again to press the words out, the familiar sound of the ticking clock returns to his attention. The friendly Tick-Tock gives him the courage to try again. 

Time is running out. 

Tom eagerly asks a question he’s asked the nurse several times by now, his many months fading in this old hospital.

“And what would your name be, pretty lady?” Tom utters successfully. 

Tom feels relieved to know he can still speak. He treasures it. It’s precious to him like a prized mare. He feels a deep respect for how long it’s served him, and he knows well how it tires; an old horse that now sits under a tree after traveling years to get Tom where he is now, once again rising to its feet in obedience to his rider. 

“Angela.” The nurse replies. 

There was nothing Tom could do or say to embarrass himself in front of the angel nurse. She’d been at this for years. Angela was practiced in seeing and loving people at their worst or most desperate times. Tom was in good hands. 

Tom noted how Angela’s name fell out of her mouth in a childlike way – he guessed the same way it did with her grandpa when she would ask for the candy she knew was stashed in his pocket. And though Tom wasn’t Angela’s grandpa, he could tell right now she needed him to be. 

“What a lovely name.” Tom uttered. With the way his voice continued to grovel, he knew he didn’t have many words left – he had to choose them carefully. 

“I’m sure you have many places you need to go – but can I tell you something?” Tom inquired respectfully. 

Angela knew Tom would be passing soon, and had fought the doctor for this time. Angela always tried to be here for moments like this. She had a feeling, and she didn’t always listen – but tonight she did. 

“You don’t realize till the end how precious everything is.” Tom uttered as he began to draw from a well of wisdom that exceeded even his many years. The ancient water filled his body and the horse quickened. 

“I’ve been listening to this clock and smelling your perfume. I hear the birds outside my window and the kids laughing down the street – up to something they know they probably shouldn’t be – and I can’t help but feel so much peace about it all.”

 

Angela felt the air turn to blankets, blankets that now filled every void in the room – holding them both gently and perfectly in place. Like when a mother engulfs her child in a fluffy towel after a warm bath; a warmth that wraps not just the body – but the whole soul.

The feeling sits on Angela’s chest and shoulders with great pressure and kindness – like a kiss from a toddler, or a sunset with a lover. 

Tom spoke softly, “The world is just beautiful – even when no one is looking.” 

He offers his last confession with a pleasant sigh. It glides from his mouth as a pair of tears fall from his glassy eyes, shimmering with the light of a thousand memories. 

Angela gently combs Tom’s sparse hair to the side. Tom cherishes the touch so much that it unshackles him from time: he feels the strong hands of his mother combing his hair for church, the sweet caress of his wife in bed, the inquisitive tug of his children and grandchildren on his thick brown hair.

Angela wipes tears from her plump cheeks as Tom’s horse lays down to rise no more. 

Angela leans forward and places a sacred kiss on his forehead. She prepares to share the last words Tom will hear before he passes. 

Tom hears the voices of everyone he’s ever loved echo throughout his heart as Angela utters softly, timelessly, perfectly:  

“Thank you Tom. We love you. We’ll miss you. So many people are excited to see you again.”