The Angel Speaks – #WRITEPHOTO

The Angel Speaks – #WRITEPHOTO

I tossed and turned in the bed unable to sleep. Tomorrow would be my wife Debbie’s first death anniversary. I was a carpenter by profession. I still remember the day I had carried Debbie as a fresh bride thirty years back into the wooden shack I had built with my own hands. She had been a beautiful lass of twenty and I was proud of her.

It had simply been a misunderstanding over the breakfast she had cooked for me the day of her death that had caused us to fight. I had always wanted fried pork for my breakfast but six month before Debbie’s death the doctor had advised me to stop eating pork as it was having a deleterious effect on my health and making me put on weight. The doctor had also advised me to exercise regularly. He warned me of heart attacks if I did not go slow on fat content in my diet.

The result was that for six months Debbie had completely cut off pork and other meat with fatty content from my menu. In addition she made me walk regularly for an hour every day. Slowly my resentment towards Debbie built up to mammoth proportions. Initially it began with a mild dislike but steadily built into massive hatred. Everyday I begged her to feed me pork and to give me a break from the walks.

But she refused completely. She also rationed my alcohol consumption. The worst part of it was after retirement I had transferred all my savings to her name as she was more careful with spending money. After the doctor gave us advise she kept a very tight control on what I spent. There was no chance of sneaking off and eating or drinking to my heart’s content.

On the morning of the day of her death my resentment overflowed. I lost sight of the fact that Debbie was controlling my food and drink only for my own good. I completely lost my temper. First I picked up the wooden donkey that I had made as a gift for her with my own hands and smashed it against the wall. I slapped her hard. This was the first time I had ever hit her.

Debbie had not spoken a word. She had simply rushed out of the house. She was run over by a speeding truck and had lost her life. I was devastated. Initially I felt I had killed her with my own hands. For days the guilt consumed me. It has been a year and I have still not been able to make peace with myself.

As I lay in bed a figure appeared in the room dressed like an angel and holding a dove in her hand. There was something strangely familiar with the angel’s face. I looked closely and suddenly I realised that it was none other than my Debbie. My eyes filled with tears. 

After a few seconds the angel spoke. She said ‘My darling, I have taken my place in heaven and I am watching over you from  the stars. Do not berate yourself so much and do not blame yourself for my death. You did not kill me. Whatever happened was an accident. I have always loved you and always will. Do you remember our honeymoon? We spent our first night together in the little wooden shack you had built in the middle of our beautiful little garden. 

You had even built the wooden bed on which we spent our first night with your own hands. Our love lasted thirty years. When two people have been married that long you have real love for each other. Real strong genuine love. I am not with you now and yet I am with you every single moment. Look at this wooden donkey you gifted me I have here. It is my constant companion among the stars. As a token of my love do accept this dove.’

So saying the angel let go of the dove which came and sat on my shoulders. I woke up with a start stunned by how real the whole dream had been. Suddenly I realised it was not a dream. It was Debbie’s way of reassuring me that everything was fine between us and she was with me. I closed my eyes and let out a sigh of contentment. For the first time after a long while I slept without my usual sense of guilt.

Author’s Note: This post has been written in response to Sue Vincent’s Thursday Photo Prompt – #WRITEPHOTO 

3 Thoughts to “The Angel Speaks – #WRITEPHOTO”

  1. Thank you, Jai. A good story, as always.

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