Who Saved Me?

As I came to, I was aware of a pain in my arm and looked down to see an IV taped to the skin, just where my arm would normally bend at the elbow. I blinked in the harsh fluorescent light, becoming aware that I was lying in a hospital bed. I looked around the room and noticed my clothing flung over a chair beside the gurney I lay on. Droplets of water were hitting the floor under them. Water. The flood.

The sirens in town had blared just before the dam cracked under the pressure from days of rain. The hurricane had been merciless to the old feat of engineering. I had been fleeing my house, low lying in the path of destruction, but not fast enough. The water slammed into me and dragged me under. I was confused which way was up. I don’t remember coming up for air. So, who saved me?

I pressed the nurse call button on the bed, and several moments later a woman in floral scrubs bustled into the room looking concerned.

“You’re awake,” she said, glancing at the vitals monitor above my head. “How do you feel?”

“I’m a bit confused. Do you know how I got to the hospital? Who brought me here?”

“I’m not sure. A good Samaritan I guess, but he did leave something for you.”

I wondered if she was about to hand me a business card or a note, but she crouched under the gurney, feeling for the metal tray underneath. She straightened back up, her fingers curled around what looked like a large coin. I opened my hand, and she dropped it in my palm.

Done fussing with me, she said, “Try to get some rest. You’ve been through a trauma.” I nodded and she left.

The token was lightweight, and about three times the size of a quarter. On one side the likeness of an angel was engraved on it. My hand traced over the image before flipping it over. On the opposite side was the biblical saying “Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others.”

My curiosity was piqued. Who was the stranger that saved me? Did he leave the token as a clue to his identity or where to find him? After some consideration, I decided my guardian angel might be connected to a church. I was determined to find him so I could thank him for saving my life and find out how to repay him.

After two more days, the hospital discharged me, and I found my way back to where my home once stood. Everything was gone. There were no traces of pictures, home items, or the antique piggy banks I used to collect. The soggy plot of land strewn with yard and building debris was as devoid as I currently felt inside.

Then I looked up and noticed my neighbors crying in front of the remnants of their home. The man was holding a dog leash without a dog at the other end. I started to walk, looking further down the road. I walked through puddles and ankle-deep water, past the end of my street, surveying the destruction and grieving people as I went.

I walked all the way to the park in the center of town. This was the park where I used to play as a little girl. The gazebo was lost to the flood, but the historic carousel was still standing. Its motionless wooden horses poised in various galloping positions. Although I was sure it’s gears would never work again, I noticed a very young girl perched on top of a white horse with a painted saddle of brown and yellow. She was repeatedly pressing her feet into the side of the horse, as if urging it to run. She was silently mouthing “giddyup.”

She became aware that I was watching her, and she stopped. Tentatively, she held one hand up in a wave. I waved back and walked closer.

“That’s a nice horse,” I said.

“Yeah,” she said.

“Are your parents nearby?” I asked.

“Mom says dad will always be near,” she said. “But he got hurt in the flood and went to live with the angels.”

My heart ached and I thought of the angel etched into the token in my pocket. I thought of the verse which basically said not to be so self-absorbed that you didn’t notice others in need.  The interest I had in finding my guardian angel morphed into a different interest. How many others had lost everything, including their loved ones, in the flood?

“I’m sorry about your dad,” I said. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

The girl shook her head no. “I’m okay,” she said. “Mom told the minister she didn’t know how she would pay for dad’s funeral. But luckily, I heard her, and I gave her everything in my piggy bank. Ten whole dollars!” A proud grin spread across her tired looking face.

“That was so generous of you,” I said. “Do you live close by?”

She pointed a tiny index finger to a motel, one of the few buildings that seemed to have withstood the flood waters.

“Do you stay at the motel since the flood?” I asked.

She shook her head again and started sliding off the horse. “No, we moved there when Dad lost his job last year.”

 “What’s your name?” I said.

“I’m Emily Smith. But I gotta go now. Mom said I could only play until lunch.”

“Okay, bye Emily,” I said, waving. She waved back and ran toward the motel, it’s neon sign dark. It appeared the motel, like most of the town, didn’t have electricity at the moment. At least I had relatives I could stay with out of town. So many others were in for very hard times ahead.

I realized I would be forever linked to the stranger who saved my life, not by the token he’d left behind, but by the good deed he’d done for me. He would know it and I would know it. But the message on the token was a clear reminder to pay it forward.

That evening, I left an unmarked envelope with enough cash for a decent funeral at the front desk of the motel for Mrs. Smith. Inside she would also find a token with an angel on it, and we would be strangers forever linked in our hearts.