Conversation with an Angel

Sweet memories reflected in the dark amber of John’s fourth Jack Daniels as he sat alone in his study.  No sorrow, anger or loneliness now, only the sharp warmth of the whiskey.  After fifteen years together Emily’s diagnosis had changed their lives. They had savored this past year but knew it wouldn't last.  She made him a better person, had saved him with her love.  Those memories and their last moments together seemed so distant now. The gentle rain, the formality, her favorite Psalm, the somber feel, she would have pronounced it the perfect funeral.

“Perfect,” John said sarcastically, now truly alone.
 
Accompanied by softly pattering rain night crept forward, as darkness outside and within him fell.  Soon, John thought, I’ll be with her. Then he heard a sound, distant and faint. Straining to hear, he turned towards it and the shelves behind him.  Here was what was left of his life - pictures, diplomas, and awards. Here too, was his treasured collection of fifteen angels, each a special Christmas gift from his love.
The sound was, coming from his favorite angel!  The delicate wooden figurine’s white dress was decorated with roses, a basket of flowers in her hands. Flowing ranks of wire were her wings.  Her hair was wild, like his Emily’s had been that day on the stormy dunes. Her face was indistinct, as his wife’s would soon be for him.

As he watched, the angel shifted her flower basket to wave to him.

“Hello John, it’s alright,” she said, striding forward, diaphanous wings fluttering with each step.

“John, I’m here. I’ll always be with you.”

John rubbed his eyes and shook his head vigorously.
 
“I've had too much of this,” he said, putting down his glass.

“No, John.  I’m here to help you. There isn't much time,” his angel said in a warm, sweet voice not unlike Emily’s.

“If I’m not drunk, I must be hallucinating. Either way, you don’t scare me.”

“Oh John, you silly.  It’s neither dear.  I’m here to help you, but quickly my darling, then… well, I have to go.”

“I will be with you soon, Emily.  I love you so much.” John began to cry.

“Shhhhhh, I know dear” the figure said sweetly.  “I loved you so very much too, but it’s not your time.  Please, remember our love and remember, you have things to do.”

“What? Things to do?”

“You’ll know when you find them, dear.  You always know.  Now sleep my pure darling,  sleep peacefully and rest.”

John woke to morning sun streaming through the window.  He was stiff from sleeping on the desk.  The angel, in front of him, was bathed in a warming beam. Had he moved her to the desk? He tried to remember.  Was it a dream? As he stood, the ugly black Glock .45 clattered from his lap. He stared down at the gun realizing what he had nearly done.  His Emily had saved him.  Again.