My Angel

The poem below describes my first strange occurrence, which I can remember.  I tell the story here, give you the poem after, feeling it fun to know that it is a real event.

I was living on the far south side of Chicago in the 5500 block of Union Street; it was the summer of 1958; a typical Chicago neighborhood for the time, a decade beyond the Great War.  Apartment buildings lined the main streets that carried names, side streets, or cross streets were numbered.  The numbered streets were the rivers across town with banks lined with cloned city homes.  The corners of busy intersections boomed with stores, schools, auto-repair, newspaper stands, and other such businesses.  Entrepreneurs owned the day, the landscape, variety, rather than cookie-cutter chains.  Business owners knew most, if not all their, customers by first name.  Stop and go lights protected the corners of the busier intersections; 55th and Union was one such cross street.

I was seven-years old and regularly ran errands to local businesses for mom.  She worked long hours, six-days a week.  Our live-in housekeeper, Lillian, watched over me when mom was away.  One muggy Chicago evening mom sent me to the grocer just down and across the street from our apartment building.  As I approached the intersection, the light began to change from green to red.

A kid of seven will never die or meet harm's way, they are immortal.  How sweet it is to reminisce of those innocent years before life's scars.  Needless to say, rather then stop and look, I dashed.  I heard the screech of tires and never felt the impact.  Waking, frightened people surrounded me including the poor, unfortunate, kind man whose car had hit me.  I was fine but suddenly swept up in strong arms and carried into the grocery store.

I need to clarify for you here; there is no doubt that I was awake when I went into the store.  This is what followed. 

The window facing Union Street had a wide ledge.  It housed the radiator below, the most common heating method of the time.  The poor kind man placed me there and bystanders started firing questions like an AL Capone gang war.  I kept insisting I was fine, just wanted to fill my list and head back home before I got in trouble.  Mom's last words as I went through the apartment door, "watch the light."  Oh boy!  In the chaos of questions, I became confused and I stopped hearing the commotion around me...

There was a young blonde man standing over me with a demeanor of kindness.  He was clothed in a simple white gown.  If you would like a stunningly accurate image of him, recall the original version of H.G. Wells', "The Time Machine."  The film released in 1960 staring Rod Taylor as H G. Wells, the lovely Yvette Mimieux as Weena and Bob Barran as an Eloi man.  I was amazed when I saw this film at the age of ten; the young blonde man looked exactly like the Eloi.

There was an aura about him and a feeling of golden hue - it was strange thus the word feeling.  The hue was there but it was not, there was a sense of it - hard to explain, it was 50-years ago.  He looked down at me smiling and told me not to be afraid; he said I knew him and I was safe and would be fine.  He extended his hand to me in a manner that conveyed words unspoken.  The sparkle of clear sea-blue eyes, a gentle disposition, and knowing smile completed our bond. 

We left the store hand in hand and walked across the street to my apartment.  On the way, he told me he carried a message that was in what I was going to see.  We entered the building walked up two flights of stairs.  Reaching the landing just below my apartment door he told me to sit and watch. 

He knocked on the door and mom answered.  She looked worried but not surprised.  I will never forget this, he did not speak and mom said, "I knew you were coming, I could feel you.  Is he alright?"  Before the man could answer mom was crying.  He said, "He is ok and everything will be fine.  He was struck by a car and is in the store across the street."  Crying and in a panic, mom went past and as he passed, he took my hand. 

We left the building and crossed the street and during the walk, the man spoke to both mom and me.  I could hear their conversation but she could not hear ours.  I understood this was a spiritual event and mom could not see me but she saw the man.  No one else ever did. 

We entered the store, I went in first, when mom came though the door I sat up on the window seat and said, "Hi, Mom everything is ok."

The man stood at the door, gave a smile and nod, then left.  He walked past the street side window where I sat.  He raised his palm toward the window, smiled, nodded and was gone.  I never saw him again.

There was new commotion in the store caused by my mother's arrival.  The bystanders wanted to know who she was and asked me repeatedly if she was my mother.  The storeowner confirmed that she was my mom.  They asked her how she knew what had happened.  She told them a man came for her.  They were confused because none of them had gone and she came though the door alone.

An ambulance came and took me to the hospital because I had been unconscious in the store.  They said I just bowed my head and passed out; I woke when mom came into the store.  I had x-rays and zillions of other tests over the next week but doctors never found a thing wrong with me.  The high point of the hospital was the vending machine down the hall from my room.  I discovered Mars bars and peanut butter cheese crackers.

Mom and I talked about what happened.  I told her about the conversation at the apartment door and she said it was word for word.  She also said that it was strange how she had suddenly known the man was coming to get her.  Through the years, I have looked back on that day with fondness.  I carry the message in my heart.  Mom loves me; God loves me and took the time to tell me on a personal level.