Hannah's Angel

The last thing Hannah did before leaving the hotel bathroom was to turn the toilet tissue roll round the right way - she could depart now, satisfied that all would be ok on the flight home.

She needs to know that I have her back, she doesn’t need these rituals, I won't let any harm come to her, she chooses not to see me. Hannah seems afraid that if she acknowledges my presence that somehow it will set off a chain of events that she won't be able to cope with, or it will disrupt her ordered world and yet if she specifically asks me for help it is my duty to be there for her.

I never meant to fall in love with her; it wasn’t until she was thirty and actually saw me in human form that I comprehended my true feelings. I was there when she was born, knowing she was special, and yet not realizing the next three decades would tear me apart. Watching her, helpless to her anguish, looking for ways for her to recognize me. I visited her dreams when she was at her most despairing, or left the odd white feather in her path, she always took each one, but never asked for anything for herself.

And then it happened, Hannah looked me directly in the face one day and beckoned me over, she wasn’t fazed, it was as if it was the most natural thing in the world and we spent a blissful afternoon together. She allowed the event to naturally evolve, my heart was lost but she chose to see me no more…

For centuries I have guided the mortals, they beg, they plead, and it is my duty to acquiesce to their requests within the strict remit set when we were first placed to be their Guardian Angels, but Hannah only ever asks for others.

She was a tiny little baby, fighting for breath; her lifeless twin beside her. Noticing the little curls, one falling directly on her forehead, I was momentarily distracted saying the nursery rhyme to myself, when drawn out of my dream by hearing that first almighty cry. I knew then she was special…and that she’d be a handful.

Countless hospital admissions followed throughout her childhood, mostly due to her daring, like when her older brother said she was too tiny to jump off the sea wall, but she did it anyway, showing myself to her in different guises to help as best as I could, but she never showed fear or said prayers to call.

When the disease struck in her fifth decade her belligerent spirit came to the fore, she was defiant like some bare-knuckle prizefighter, getting up off the floor spitting blood out of his mouth and beckoning his opponent with a “Come on, is that all you got??” She hates the word fight, not seeing it as a war for then there is winners and losers, but as a brick wall that you just keep chipping away at.

She felt my presence for sure in the hospital, despite all the noisy machines keeping her alive there was an intense silence, I kissed her, and she acknowledged me, wanting to show myself visibly but restraining for then her family came in, her daughter so distraught, her husband showing his softer side.

For five years Hannah chipped away at that wall, accepting all that befell her and the new normal she had to endure, each setback taken with inner strength belying her petite, ragged frame. More time was spent in that hospital than her home, thinking she was alone in the room her mask often dropped, but I saw it, yet Hannah wouldn’t give in, never once asking for her health back or for an end to her suffering, until now…

It’s been a year since any hospital incarcerations and whilst Hannah spends her days keeping herself alive, she doesn’t have to endure physical pain anymore. In her eyes though, she has swapped one nightmare for another, and has started to give up, but I need to be sure. For each of the last eleven months she has asked for her suffering to end, however she always concludes it with an ‘I think’ and that isn’t enough for me to take action.

Her birthday is here, the party marquee looks resplendent in the garden.

It is time, I think.

Being as hesitant as she is makes me laugh, but it isn’t funny. Mortals can behave inextricably strange and even after all this time they still confuse me.

Hannah could easily stop, full stop. She is in a precarious situation where she doesn’t have to physically do anything; all she has to do is ignore what her body is telling her, then one possibly two hours is all it would take. She’s not a regular diabetic; the pancreas has now been utterly and totally extracted, along with a few other internal organs, but sans pancreas, she has no natural insulin and more importantly, no glucagon either, so there’s no comeback from a ‘hypo’ other than her own resilience. I can see she has also had enough of the sporadic fecal incontinence, she can’t digest fats, and the tablets don’t seem to work. An embarrassment for anyone, let alone someone so concerned with their appearance.

So why does she go on? For her daughter, Ella? Most certainly, she adores her like any mother would, but seems to have an extra bond there, one she placed herself, being the only child she was allowed to have. For her husband, Simon? She is more loyal to him than he deserves, but clearly she loves him. For her best friend, Francesca? A promise to be the one to hold her hand on Fran’s deathbed to ease the passage of fear. Hannah doesn’t need to do that; they all have their own guardians.

She can let go; no-one would blame her… I need to get her to see me.

On her second two hourly check of the evening, she finds a corner to test her blood sugars, surveying all that is happening around, everyone who has ever meant anything to her is at this party. Ella’s dancing with her kids, Hannah waves to her and gives the thumbs up as Ella signalled to see whether her blood sugars are ok, they aren’t but Hannah isn’t letting on. Beside her is a book that people have been writing their good wishes in, she’s trying read it, but her eyes are blurry, there’s lots of love and affection expressed.

She has seen it now, her favourite poem, I have written it, but she doesn’t recognize the handwriting, ‘He who wishes for the cloths of Heaven,’ every last line, verbatim.

Getting to her feet, wandering out of the marquee and into the garden, she spots a feather on the floor, and then another, walking its path to the love arch at the bottom of the lawn, it is then that she sees me….

“Oh my God, it, i-t-t’s you, where have you been?”

“I’ve been around since the day you were born, Hannah.”

“Gosh, you must be really old then!”

“Yes, I am, what do you think of my hair colour? The lady in the salon said the shade was called ‘Viking Blue’!”

She guffaws with laughter, ‘So, what should I call you?’

‘It’s up to you, if you prefer, you can call me what you have done for the last few decades, you know, how you see me in your dreams.’

“The Viking?? Well, you do look like him.”

“Why have you never asked me for anything for yourself, Hannah?”

“I DO” she protests.

“A parking space from the Parking Angel? Not exactly what I meant!” I’m laughing, she is amazing.

“Always get one though,” she says with a wink.

“I have to do what you specifically ask for, it’s the law!” We’re both laughing now.

“And Ella?” she enquires.

“You asked, you begged, and she is healthy, isn’t she?”

“Yes, she is, and of course I asked, she is everything to me, what about Fran?”

“There’s no need to be there to hold her hand, Hannah, she has her own guardian, and she’ll be ok.”

“That’s a relief.”

“But as I said, never asking for anything for you?? You never, ever questioned my presence, not even sure you knew half the time! For instance, I was there at every hospital you were at as a child, remember the pink bath? And then your sister used to see me in later years, but I had to be the school storyteller for you to, though. And the dog?? He was a masterstroke. And then, the last few years, all twenty-one hospital admissions and not once did you ask me to make you healthy or end your suffering, why ever not?”

I know I sound exasperated, but hopefully in a kindly way, if that’s possible.

“I-I couldn’t, I’m no-one special, why did I deserve preferential treatment? I take whatever life gives me.”

“I noticed that, but you ARE special to a lot of people, and there’s a reason why others have to leave this world, even at a young age, they have a different path to follow.”

“So, what are you doing here now?”

“You asked me and as I said, it’s the law!”

We might be giggling again but there’s a serious tone in my voice as I continue,

“What I should’ve said, Hannah, is that you haven’t asked me for anything this serious for yourself until now, but nearly every single month of this year you have asked for your suffering to end, however, you always conclude it with the words, I think. I need to know if you truly mean what you’ve been saying, for you won’t be able to change your mind.”

“I’ve loved Simon for over thirty years…” she begins.

“It isn’t a competition, Hannah, I’ve loved you since the day I saw you being born, it isn’t about love that I’m asking, and you know that.”

“I’ve been loyal, despite Simon’s disbelief, but this feels like betrayal, am I now who he’s always thought I was?”

“You never were, are, or will be. You’ve loved him like no other, no matter what was thrown at you, that’s loyalty, and with every fibre of your being you love Ella but as I said, it’s not about love, is it? I need to know – have you truly had enough, Hannah?”

She’s in my arms now but I can see her daughter and best friend approaching in the distance, I can hear them talking…

 “Auntie Fran, have you seen my Mum?”

Ella has always called Francesca Auntie in deference to her specialness.

Ella stops in her tracks, and picks up the guest book from the lawn, it is face down, open at a particular page,

“Oh my!”

“What is it, Ella?”

“T-the poem, the one Mum always made me repeat, over and over again, there’s no name by it. Do you know this handwriting?”

“No, sweetie,” she’s laughing now as she picks up the feathers from the lawn.

“You know about the feathers too? What’s so funny, Auntie Fran?”

“It’s as if she’s planned this! I never believed the feather stories, but always indulged her, seemed to make her happy. She only ever wants happiness for everyone, you especially; she always wanted you to find a special friendship in your life, like we have.”

“I do, but it’s as if, well, if she knew that I had she might stop fighting…” Ella is faltering, and tears are falling.

 “The tales she used to tell me, about the feathers and all that, is HE real Fran?”

“He is to her; he is to her.”

“OMG! By the love arch, she is on the floor, Fran, go get her blood sugar stuff; I’ll stay with her, hurry p-l-e-a-s-e hurry! Please, please God, don’t let it be too late. No, Mummy, no Mummy, please.”

******