An angel of my own.

Taken from The Sunday Star, 24th October 2004.
Sent in by Kamalhesvari Nagaraj.

There was a time when I felt angels had no place in my life. My childhood was difficult and hurtful. The one bright spot that remained constant was my maternal grandmother.

She lived halfway across the country so I didn't see her nearly as much as I'd have liked to. When she visited she had a way of making me feel loved and special. She accepted me just the way I was and I always felt safe when she was near.

I grew older and got into all kinds of trouble. I got pregnant at the age of 15/ I had not told anyone yet when my grandma came for one of her visits. It was near Mother's Day. She had a penchant for costume jewellery and she gave me one of her rings.

Needless to say, I was pretty surprised and exclaimed, "But Gram, you're only supposed to give gifts to mothers on Mother's Day!" She looked at me with infinite wisdom and simply said, "I know."

That was it. I felt her love and compassion and total acceptance. I still cherish that ring. It's tarnished and the pearl has faded, but there is no other ring of mine quite as beautiful to me.

Later, when I told her I was going to keep the baby, she told me to live with the father before I married him. That was almost 27 years ago - certainly not your average bit of advice for the times. It turned out to be the best advice I have ever taken.

But the father just perpetuated the misery I experienced at home. Eventually, I left him and took my daughter with me.

For the better part of my life, I felt like a misfit and sought refuge in drugs. Misery and despair were my daily companion. Sadly, my grandma died during this time.

My daily use of drugs and my running from reality accelerated. I wanted to stop but couldn't. My life had become a hell that I longed to be released from. I nearly killed myself with overdoses on more than one occasion.

I felt totally worthless and spiritually bankrupt. I tried to protect my daughter from the filth my life had become, but it was becoming impossible. I hated myself even more for what I was doing to her.

I prayed to God, though I didn't have much faith. I believed in God, but felt that he didn't believe in me. Why should he? I was the most vile of creatures.

In desperation one dark night, I prayed more fervently than ever. There was one difference though. I prayed to my grandmother.

I knew without doubt that if there was indeed a God, she sat close to him. She was the kindest, most loving person I had ever known and could only be at God's side. If anyone could help me, it was her.

My prayers were answered. The next day, I received a call from a rehabilitation centre. I had tried the week before to get in, but there was a waiting list and they said they wouldn't have space for months. This was for a 30-day programme, but they kept me for three long months. Eventually, I gained the tools and strength to get clean and stay that way.

I joined a 12-step programme and sought therapy for myself and my daughter.

That was 13 years ago. Slowly, I healed physically, spiritually and emotionally. I started to become whole. It hasn't always been easy. I've learn to let people love me and to trust enough to love others. I've since married a wonderful man I know my grandma would love.

My therapist once said she was amazed that I could even function in the real world, given everything that had happened to me when I was younger. I believe it was my grandmother's unconditional love that led me from certain death into the loving and rewarding life that I live today. She will always live on.

Steaks and Roses.

Taken from The Sunday Star, 1st August 2004.
Sent in by Ming Tsuan Sen.

I walked into the grocery store not particularly interested in buying groceries. I wasn't hungry. The pain of losing my husband of seven years was still to raw. And this store held so many sweet memories.

He often came with me and almost every time he'd pretend to go off and look for something special. I knew what he was up to. I'd always spot him walking down the aisle with three yellow roses in his hands. He knew I loved yellow roses.

With a heart filled with grief, I only wanted to buy my few items and leave, but even grocery shopping was different since he had passed on.

Shopping for one took time, a little more thought than it had for two. Standing by the meat, I searched for the perfect small steak.

Suddenly a woman came beside me. She was blonde, slim and lovely in a soft green pantsuit. I watched as she picked up a large pack of T-bones, dropped them in her basket, hesitated, and then put them back.

She turned to go and once again reached for the pack of steaks. She saw me watching her and she smiled. "My husband loves T-bones, but honestly, at these prices, I don't know."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and met her pale blue eyes. "My husband passed away eight days ago," I told her. Glancing at the package in her hands, I fought to control the tremble in my voice. "Buy him the steaks. And cherish every moment you have together."

She shook her head and I saw the emotion in her eyes as she placed the package in her basket and wheeled away. I turned and pushed my cart across the length of the store to the dairy products. There I stood, trying to decide which size milk I should buy. Quart, I finally decided and moved on to the ice cream. If nothing else, I could always fix myself an ice cream cone. I placed the ice cream in my cart and looked down the aisle toward the front.

I saw first the green suit, and then recognised the pretty lady coming towards me. In her arms she carried a package. On her face was the brightest smile I had ever seen. I would swear a soft halo encircled her blonde hair as she kept walking towards me, her eyes holding mine. As she cam closer, I saw what she held and tears began misting in my eyes.

"These are for you," she said and placed three beautiful long stemmed yellow roses in my arms. "When you go through the line, they will know they have been paid for..." She leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on my cheek, then smiled again.

I wanted to tell her what she'd done, what the roses meant. But still unable to speak, I watched as she walked away as tears clouded my vision. I looked down at the beautiful flowers nestled in the green tissue wrapping and found it almost unreal.

How did she know? Suddenly the answer seemed so clear. I wasn't alone. "Oh, you haven't forgotten me, have you," I whispered, with tears in my eyes. He was still with me, and she was his angel.

Mommy's little girl.

Taken from The Sunday Star, 11th July 2004.
Sent in by Premalatha Nadesan.

There came a frantic knock at the doctor's office door. A knock, more urgent than he had ever heard before.

"Come in, come in," the impatient doctor said, "Come in, come in, before you wake the dead."

In walked a frightened little girl, a child no more than nine. It was plain for all to see, she had troubles on her mind.

"Oh doctor, I beg you, please come with me, my mother is surely dying, she's as sick as she can be."

"I don't make house calls, bring your mother here."

"but she's too sick, so you must come or she will die I fear."

The doctor, touched by her devotion, decided he would go. She said he would be blessed, more than he could know. She led him to her house where her mother lay in bed. Her mother was so very sick she couldn't raise her head. But her eyes cried out for help and help her the doctor did.

She would have died that very night had it not been for her kid. The doctor got her fever down and she lived through the night, and morning brought the doctor signs that she would be all right. The mother praised the doctor for all the things he'd done. he told her she would have died, were it not for her little one.

"How proud you must be of your wonderful little girl. It was her pleading that made me come, she is really quite a pearl!"

"But doctor, my daughter died over three years ago. Is the picture on the wall of the little girl you know?"

The doctor's legs went limp for the picture on the wall, was of the same little girl for whom he'd made this call. The doctor stood motionless, for quite a little while, and then his solemn face, was broken by his smile.

He was thinking of that frantic knock heard at his office door, and of the beautiful little angel that had walked across his floor.