I believed I was untouchable as an angel. My translucent pale wings a forever gift since my death at age three on the playground swing. Please note, if you think you can stand on a swing and fly, you can’t. Well, I guess technically you can, because you die and then you get to fly as an angel.
I try to expand my wings with my shoulder muscles. The left wing is missing a section in the middle big enough for a box of my favorite chocolate sprinkled donuts to fit. My right wing is all but gone, with the exception of three feathers stuck at the base of my shoulder blade.
I look at the destruction around me, knowing I have a choice. All angels have what people back on Earth would call a “life alert button.” In Heaven, it’s call the “oops button.” See even angels fall from grace and need help. We are far from perfect, even in Heaven.
However, a part of me doesn’t want to push the button. I miss Earth, and don’t get to see it as often as you would think an angel would. Yet, Earth is not where we are permitted to stay for long and those who choose to, remain broken angels.
A broken angel is not a bad thing, although it does sound rather bad I suppose. In heaven a broken angel is someone that can’t return. They remain on Earth, without the peace they have in Heaven. Doesn’t sound too bad, I know, but it’s a rather catch twenty-two situation. The broken angel gets to be with family, unbeknownst to them, yet, missing out on their own afterlife.
I think of Mama, who is pushing seventy now, alone. I think of Pop, who became an angel ten years ago. The one thing about being a broken angel is that once you make your decision, it sticks like super glue.
I think of Mama. The clock is ticking, I must make my choice.