I was fortunate to have two wonderful, loving grandmothers. This grandmother, Lizzie, was my father's mother. My father was her oldest son, and my grandmother could not walk past him without patting him on the back, or touching his hair. She loved my father. She loved us too and her way of loving was to hug us until we couldn't breath.
My grandparents lived on the second floor in a house in Cleveland Ohio. Every Saturday, "Mommy Owens" went to the A&P for groceries. My father and I went to visit after they came back from the store. I was 10 or 11 and remember walking up the stairs and smelling coffee being perked in a stove top perculator. I didn't drink coffee, but I enjoyed the aroma. Mommy Owens always bought my father cake of some kind, and the coffee was for him.
She lived a hard life with my grandfather. My father was always putting him in his place. The only solace my grandmother had was going to church. She would pick me up and she'd find a few hours of peace in her short life.
My grandmother got cancer when she was 52. It was hard and quick and then she died.
I was 12 years old. Years ago, you could have a body put into a casket and drive it to where it was going. My grandmother was laid out and then my father used his stationwagon to carry it to Kentucky for her burial. I asked to go. My mother was staying home with my 5 younger sisters.
The same night she died, my father was asleep, the little ones were upstairs and I was on the sofa in the family room, at the foot of the steps to the upstairs. The house was quiet and dark. The bathroom light was on, a room away from me. The light was also on at the top of the stairs. I laid on the couch, in thoughts of my grandmother and heard one of my sisters come downstairs.
I turned my head toward the stairs and saw something tall and very white. It wasn't one of my sisters.
The Bible says angels are men....cherubim and seraphims. My angel was a young woman. She was tall, had long blonde curly hair, a white robe with a gold sash type of belt and sandals on her feel. She was wrapped in a glow and the feathers on her tall, enormous wings were not over 1 ",and there were thousands of them. The thing I couldn't wrap my mind around, was how was she going to get those tall, sculptured wings through the doorway. To this day, 49 years later, I can still see her in my mind.
At that point, I heard her foot slide over the step and realized it was not my imagination. She was real, as real as I was. What did I do? I got up and ran, to bed with my father.
I didn't tell my father, or anyone else, about the angel. I was 12 and I knew they would laugh at me.
My father passed away 14 years later. My five sisters and I were at my house planning his funeral. For some reason, maybe to comfort them, I started to tell them about my angel. When I did , one of my sisters looked at me in amazement, like I had lost my mind...I wasn't sure what the look was. She asked me to stop, took 2 sisters with her to the other room, and asked me to tell the remaining 2 the story.
We came together a few minutes later with the story and pieced it together. The sister that stopped me from telling my story, said she was in bed, heard someone come out of one of the upstairs bedrooms, looked in the hall from her bed and saw my ....now, our granmothers...angel start to walk down the stairs, where I saw her.
She was 7 and afraid. I was 12 and afraid. We never told anyone.
I regret running away from her. I wish I would have stayed to see what her journey to us was about. I think she wanted us to know our grandmother was in Heaven.
I regret not telling my father. It may have eased his grief.
I regret that in all my years on earth, I've never seen her, again. She is my grandmothers angel. I know she's around somewhere.
And I bet that when I do go to Heaven, she'll be the first one I see.
My grandparents lived on the second floor in a house in Cleveland Ohio. Every Saturday, "Mommy Owens" went to the A&P for groceries. My father and I went to visit after they came back from the store. I was 10 or 11 and remember walking up the stairs and smelling coffee being perked in a stove top perculator. I didn't drink coffee, but I enjoyed the aroma. Mommy Owens always bought my father cake of some kind, and the coffee was for him.
She lived a hard life with my grandfather. My father was always putting him in his place. The only solace my grandmother had was going to church. She would pick me up and she'd find a few hours of peace in her short life.
My grandmother got cancer when she was 52. It was hard and quick and then she died.
I was 12 years old. Years ago, you could have a body put into a casket and drive it to where it was going. My grandmother was laid out and then my father used his stationwagon to carry it to Kentucky for her burial. I asked to go. My mother was staying home with my 5 younger sisters.
The same night she died, my father was asleep, the little ones were upstairs and I was on the sofa in the family room, at the foot of the steps to the upstairs. The house was quiet and dark. The bathroom light was on, a room away from me. The light was also on at the top of the stairs. I laid on the couch, in thoughts of my grandmother and heard one of my sisters come downstairs.
I turned my head toward the stairs and saw something tall and very white. It wasn't one of my sisters.
The Bible says angels are men....cherubim and seraphims. My angel was a young woman. She was tall, had long blonde curly hair, a white robe with a gold sash type of belt and sandals on her feel. She was wrapped in a glow and the feathers on her tall, enormous wings were not over 1 ",and there were thousands of them. The thing I couldn't wrap my mind around, was how was she going to get those tall, sculptured wings through the doorway. To this day, 49 years later, I can still see her in my mind.
At that point, I heard her foot slide over the step and realized it was not my imagination. She was real, as real as I was. What did I do? I got up and ran, to bed with my father.
I didn't tell my father, or anyone else, about the angel. I was 12 and I knew they would laugh at me.
My father passed away 14 years later. My five sisters and I were at my house planning his funeral. For some reason, maybe to comfort them, I started to tell them about my angel. When I did , one of my sisters looked at me in amazement, like I had lost my mind...I wasn't sure what the look was. She asked me to stop, took 2 sisters with her to the other room, and asked me to tell the remaining 2 the story.
We came together a few minutes later with the story and pieced it together. The sister that stopped me from telling my story, said she was in bed, heard someone come out of one of the upstairs bedrooms, looked in the hall from her bed and saw my ....now, our granmothers...angel start to walk down the stairs, where I saw her.
She was 7 and afraid. I was 12 and afraid. We never told anyone.
I regret running away from her. I wish I would have stayed to see what her journey to us was about. I think she wanted us to know our grandmother was in Heaven.
I regret not telling my father. It may have eased his grief.
I regret that in all my years on earth, I've never seen her, again. She is my grandmothers angel. I know she's around somewhere.
And I bet that when I do go to Heaven, she'll be the first one I see.
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