For Believers In Angels

He walked in like a nervous sweating mad dog, panting, and pacing, eyes darting around nervously, refusing to make contact. Something had upset this man, but intuitively I knew that he was not a threat. I felt no fear.

I gave him space, and time to relax into the Stephen Halpern melodies that swirled around, calming him...although he had not recognized his settling peace.

When finally his breath returned, his posture no longer tensed and tight, the stress dropped from his shoulders, I sweetly whispered, "What is it? What have you have come to find? Are you looking for an angel?"

He blinked as if the words had slapped serenity from his head. "What? Uhh...an angel? I uhh…."

He looked around again, this time turning his head back and forth as to watch a tennis match. Glancing at the shelves first left, then right, his forehead deep with that inquisitive 11 that everyone gets when they are deep in thought, or pensive. His number came from both.

"This is an Angel Store. We sell angels here. We have angel statues, jewelry, books, cards, clothing.... We even have a shower curtain, and angelic glassware. Did you come in to get an angel?" I asked the question, more as a way of encouraging the stranger to open his obviously aching heart. "Can I help you?"

Still his eyes averted, staring intently at the floor pattern he inhaled a great sigh that spoke of damned fear and anguish. He exhaled and slowly lifted his face to mine. "I am an artist," the man began. "I am an artist, and I am going blind. I am an artist and I am going blind and I have AIDS." He said it as a flood that had broken through the gates, a powerful rush of words and floating pieces of emotions and grief. With this I opened up my arms and smiled.

I held him long, as he wept such sobs of wet release that I knew he was more than mortal. I had just met my angel.

We became fast friends, Steven and I. He was there when I needed his wisdom, and just as often to share a full-soul-belly laugh. And he was there when my son died a few months later.

And then, he died.

I have a painting of a splitting walnut that closely resembles a green and brown peace sign. Steven named it, "Transformation In The Light." It is one of his most fascinating paintings, and I fell in love with it the minute I saw it. The painting was as a projection of me, transforming in the light of the angel store and all who entered. Steven signed it, "An angel brought us together."

I have no doubt it's true.

I miss my sweet friend and angel-store patron, Steven, and I miss my son. They both shared the trait of being fabulously talented artists. I like to believe they are sharing techniques, together in a different dimension, talking about the times we shared.

I do believe....