Angels

​In December 2013, I was once again sitting on a recliner in a small room with no windows,
hooked up to IVs sending chemotherapy and medication to reduce allergic reactions into my
body. I was exhausted, depressed, discouraged depleted . . . Wondering why I was bothering to
deal with yet another bout of leukemia, first diagnosed in 1985. A friend had lent me a Tablet but
the few movies I started to watch seemed inane. Boring. Books that had interested me lay next to
my chair unopened. Time passed so slowly I would have guess it had stopped except for people
being unhooked, leaving. New people arriving, being hooked up.

Around me, everyone, similarly connected to tubes, were dozing, staring into space, looking at
computer screens . . . each of us separate yet connected by cancers of various types. Bald women
wore headscarves or hats. Men, used to being bald, lay with uncovered heads. The room was
quiet except for occasional words of encouragement from nurses adjusting IVs. Even visitors,
sitting next to patients seldom spoke. When they did, it was with hushed tones. No rules were
posted against talking or laughing and yet, as if by unspoken agreement, silence reigned.

Into the silence walked two women, one wearing a brightly colored dress, startling against the
muted tones of patients’ clothing. She stopped to talk with one of the nurses. The second woman,
wearing a stylish suit with lots of jewelry, came over to me. She smiled. I didn’t feel like smiling
but somehow her smile demanded a response. I smiled. She bent over and said, “I know you’re
Jewish but I’m wondering if you’d like to have an angel. I make them for patients as my
Christmas gift. Even though it’s an angel I’d be happy to call it a Chanukah gift.”

Stunned by her caring and the beauty of the angel she was offering I said, “I’d love to have an
angel. Everyone needs angels.”

She put a small angel with wings into my left hand. I thanked her for her kindness and the gift.
She held my right hand for a few seconds, said, “I pray for your healing,” then moved on to the
person sitting in the chair near me.

I watched the second woman move from patient to patient, giving each something I couldn’t
quite see. When she came over to me, she looked at my left hand and said, “I see you already
have an angel. Would you like to have one I made?” She held out a bald angel. It was bigger than
the one I was holding, with ribbons for wings. I was moved by her thoughtfulness.

This time my smile was unforced. “I don’t guess anyone can have too many angels. I’d be
delighted for my angel to have company.” She put a bald-headed angel into my right hand. I
thanked her for making something so lovely and respectful.

The two women did more than give each of us the gift of handmade angels. Where there’d been
silence and heaviness, there was now connection. We talked to each other, sharing our
angels—all differently made by two women who cared about people they didn’t know and would
probably never meet again.
​
What role do angels play in your life?