We all have angels in our lives, though usually we don’t realize it at the time.
They’re the ones that float around the periphery of your life. You know them, you’re friends with them perhaps, and yet you know there’s always more to them that they don’t share with anyone, a shade in their eyes, of sorrow half-remembered from some other time they never talk about or can’t remember. Perhaps there’s a bit of other-worldliness about them, as if they’re not quite tethered to this physical earth.
Angels are ethereal creatures, easily damaged beyond repair. Their hearts are too exposed, with no armor to protect them from the hundreds of daily arrows that the rest of us shrug off. They are too tender, and we would love to wrap them in cotton wool, protect them from all of the pain and suffering in the world, make it all right for them again.
But we can’t, and one day, without warning, they’re gone. Their presence lingers, like a melody floating by that you can’t quite catch, a flash of sunlight on the water, a glimpse of them just beyond the edge of sight.
And all we can do is be thankful for that brief moment in our lives that we shared with such a being, and grieve for the loss, and maybe be a little more tender, a little more open in our own lives, to take an extra moment to be kind.