Contributed by Nina Wheeler
My Dad had been battling cancer for six years and we all knew that he was in his final days. My family (my Mother, sister Kerry, brother Andy and myself) were crowded into the tiny hospice room, morbidly glancing from one set of eyes to the next, no one really knowing what to say or do.
My mother needed a break to stretch her legs. She’d been sitting at dad’s bedside through the night. Andy lead her outside to the gardens for a breather, my sister Kerry following suit right behind them.
Looking around the silent, darkened room, it was just me and Dad. I sat quietly staring at the frail, weak and sickly man who had once been so strong and vibrant. He had battled so hard for so long, determined to defy the vile disease. But it had him beat and it was only a matter of time now.
Dad let out a long, heavy sigh and gingerly lifted a hand and reached towards something (or someone) I couldn’t see. I stared in fascination and felt riveted to my chair. Staring intently, I began to see the outline of a figure standing next to my father’s bed. I blinked a couple of times, not believing my own eyes - but I knew I could see a figure becoming clearer and clearer as I watched on. I could vaguely make out a shimmering glow around the figure, although it was kind of transparent and seemed to be a bright white but with colours. It was an incredible sight and I sat transfixed for what seemed like an age, although logically I knew it was only a matter of moments.
I heard footsteps approaching in the hallway and glanced at the door as it opened. My brother, sister and mother bustled back into the room. I glanced back at my father’s bed, and the Angel was gone - and so had my father, leaving only the shell of who he had been behind. His battle was now over and he was finally out of pain and at peace.
I never mentioned the Angel to anyone, but I thanked her silently for guiding my Dad over to the Other Side.
Contributed by Nina Wheeler
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