Angels, Once Removed AUWA Sydney's Story Teen 12/19/05 1/1
Posted: Mon Dec 19, 2005 2:59 pm
Title: Angels, Once Removed
Author: Cherie
Category: AUWA Sydney's story
Rating: Teen
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I just like to bring them out and play with them on occasion.
Summary: A Christmas story from a recipient of Max's healing.
Author's Note: Merry Christmas, everyone.
Angels, Once Removed
"Are you an angel?"
A dear friend of mine once asked someone this question. It seems strange that this child is asking me the same question now.
"No, I'm only a dream." I reply. " Close your eyes and go back to sleep." Her eyes turn towards the small tree in the corner of the hospital room. The lights blink off and on, and tiny pieces of color sparkle on her face. Her lashes flutter, and she gives me a sweet smile before she finally closes her eyes. I wonder briefly if I had looked as small and fragile to my angel.
As I run my hands along her tiny body gathering all the pain and sickness into one central location that I can touch and transfer to myself, my mind returns to this morning when the five of us were finalizing our plans for the sharing of the gifts that were once bestowed upon us.
**********
"Is everything in place?" my father wanted to know. He always worries about us this time of year. Even though he finances the trips we make and has helped us do this since we were old enough to realize that we could help others, he always gets nervous and apprehensive when it's time for us to leave.
"Yes, Daddy," I told him. "We've been doing this for five years," I assured him with a kiss on the cheek. "It's a tradition now."
He smiled at me and my mind flew back to the first year we decided to use our gifts to help others.
I was fifteen then, and volunteering as a candy striper in the oncology ward of the children's hospital in Phoneix. All of the others were there as well, helping out with the wrapping of gifts and decorations to bring as much happiness as was possible to the children who would be spending what would possibly be their last Christmas. I knew how they felt..having been there myself. The others did too.
When word of our miraculous healing the Christmas of 2000 got into the newspapers, we were the focus of attention for a few weeks. Doctors were called in for consultations, our parents were hounded by the press unmercifully..and even the police questioned us about the two young men that had been in the children's ward that night. The night nurse and security were baffled as to how they had managed to disappear without a trace. And, of course, there was always the mystery of the silver handprint that had appeared on our skin, then faded after a few days. The five of us made a pact when we were finally released from the hospital and sent home that we would return every year to be with other children whose lives hung in the balance. And we did. Every year at Christmas we returned to the room where the angel had come to us and healed us with his gentle hands and soft voice and I don't think any of us will ever forget the tenderness and sorrow that shone in his beautiful eyes.
It was purely by accident that I discovered my gift that first year. While making a small boy comfortable as I could, he began to cry. I pulled him into my arms and ran my hands up and down his back in a small gesture of comfort. I felt it then...the warmth that began in my fingertips, the small glow that emmanated from my palm. I could see inside the little boy...inside his mind. I pictured him being born, being held by his mother, in a stroller in the park..and I don't know how or why I knew what to do. I just did. I reached for his illness, for the blood that was swimming with disease and I pulled it into myself. I felt a wave of naseau and almost collapsed on the floor. It took a few minutes, but once my body had absorbed the bad cells, I felt better. Weak, but better. I was a little frightened as well, but there was a part of me that somehow realized what had just happened. I had healed him...just like I had been healed. It was strange, though..when I changed his pajamas I noticed the silver handprint on his back. It was very clear for a few minutes, then shimmered as if it had a life of it's own..then disappeared. I was thankful for that. At least there wouldn't be press and questions and media to contend with. And I knew in my heart he would live and his recovery would be considered another of those unexplainable miracles that sometimes happened with children that were suddenly found free of cancer after they had been diagnosed.
I met with the others at lunch that day and told them what had happened...what I had done. They didn't seem at all surprised. As it turned out, they had their secrets as well. They, too, had powers, or gifts, as we came to call them. It was decided then that once a year, on Christmas, we would each go to a different location, pick one child arbitrarily and give them a second chance at life, the same way we had been given one.
Explaining to my father hadn't been all that difficult, and I could see in his eyes that he had more of an understanding than I had ever realized. He did, after all, believe in aliens and otherwordly occurences. I had a suspicion that he actually knew who had healed us...but it wasn't his secret to tell. Some things are better left unsaid, and whoever the angel was..my father was protecting him. I only hoped that somehow..wherever he was, and whoever he was, if he ever heard about our healings, that he would understand. I have no doubt that he is a real person..someone my father knew. And just like him, I'd like to believe that what we are doing is is a good thing. Perhaps it isn't right to play God, but I believe that fate had chosen us those many years ago to carry on the good that all of us recognized inside that gentle soul who came to us with healing hands and a heart full of love for all God's creatures.
*********
It's a few days after Christmas, and we have all gathered at my father's house. Each one of us with a story to tell about the child we healed. We always pick small towns..and we keep a record of each child. So that we can watch them over the years and help them should they be blessed with gifts of their own. Sometimes, there's a small writeup in the paper of the towns we visit about a child that suddenly recovered from an incurable illness, sometimes not.
Human nature being what it is, people do tend to believe in Christmas miracles..and since we don't leave any evidence behind like silver handprints, I don't worry about stories of our miraculous healing in Phoniex being dredged up again. Folks move on and forget, life goes on and there's always a new crisis to worry about, gas prices going up again, changes in the weather and the latest fashion trend.
We lift our glasses in a toast to the unknown angel. My father smiles..a twinkle in his eye as he joins the five of us. "To blessings in disguise, and angels, once removed." we all say in unison.
Later, after everyone has left, I stand outside on the porch and look up at night sky. My father joins me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and pulling me close. "You did good, Sydney," he whispers in my ear. "You've done your angel proud."
"Daddy," I whisper, "will you ever tell me who he was?"
He pulls me closer, his lips touching my cheek. "Maybe someday. " he says.
For now, the unknown angel shall remain unnamed. I rather like it that way.
The End
Author: Cherie
Category: AUWA Sydney's story
Rating: Teen
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I just like to bring them out and play with them on occasion.
Summary: A Christmas story from a recipient of Max's healing.
Author's Note: Merry Christmas, everyone.
Angels, Once Removed
"Are you an angel?"
A dear friend of mine once asked someone this question. It seems strange that this child is asking me the same question now.
"No, I'm only a dream." I reply. " Close your eyes and go back to sleep." Her eyes turn towards the small tree in the corner of the hospital room. The lights blink off and on, and tiny pieces of color sparkle on her face. Her lashes flutter, and she gives me a sweet smile before she finally closes her eyes. I wonder briefly if I had looked as small and fragile to my angel.
As I run my hands along her tiny body gathering all the pain and sickness into one central location that I can touch and transfer to myself, my mind returns to this morning when the five of us were finalizing our plans for the sharing of the gifts that were once bestowed upon us.
**********
"Is everything in place?" my father wanted to know. He always worries about us this time of year. Even though he finances the trips we make and has helped us do this since we were old enough to realize that we could help others, he always gets nervous and apprehensive when it's time for us to leave.
"Yes, Daddy," I told him. "We've been doing this for five years," I assured him with a kiss on the cheek. "It's a tradition now."
He smiled at me and my mind flew back to the first year we decided to use our gifts to help others.
I was fifteen then, and volunteering as a candy striper in the oncology ward of the children's hospital in Phoneix. All of the others were there as well, helping out with the wrapping of gifts and decorations to bring as much happiness as was possible to the children who would be spending what would possibly be their last Christmas. I knew how they felt..having been there myself. The others did too.
When word of our miraculous healing the Christmas of 2000 got into the newspapers, we were the focus of attention for a few weeks. Doctors were called in for consultations, our parents were hounded by the press unmercifully..and even the police questioned us about the two young men that had been in the children's ward that night. The night nurse and security were baffled as to how they had managed to disappear without a trace. And, of course, there was always the mystery of the silver handprint that had appeared on our skin, then faded after a few days. The five of us made a pact when we were finally released from the hospital and sent home that we would return every year to be with other children whose lives hung in the balance. And we did. Every year at Christmas we returned to the room where the angel had come to us and healed us with his gentle hands and soft voice and I don't think any of us will ever forget the tenderness and sorrow that shone in his beautiful eyes.
It was purely by accident that I discovered my gift that first year. While making a small boy comfortable as I could, he began to cry. I pulled him into my arms and ran my hands up and down his back in a small gesture of comfort. I felt it then...the warmth that began in my fingertips, the small glow that emmanated from my palm. I could see inside the little boy...inside his mind. I pictured him being born, being held by his mother, in a stroller in the park..and I don't know how or why I knew what to do. I just did. I reached for his illness, for the blood that was swimming with disease and I pulled it into myself. I felt a wave of naseau and almost collapsed on the floor. It took a few minutes, but once my body had absorbed the bad cells, I felt better. Weak, but better. I was a little frightened as well, but there was a part of me that somehow realized what had just happened. I had healed him...just like I had been healed. It was strange, though..when I changed his pajamas I noticed the silver handprint on his back. It was very clear for a few minutes, then shimmered as if it had a life of it's own..then disappeared. I was thankful for that. At least there wouldn't be press and questions and media to contend with. And I knew in my heart he would live and his recovery would be considered another of those unexplainable miracles that sometimes happened with children that were suddenly found free of cancer after they had been diagnosed.
I met with the others at lunch that day and told them what had happened...what I had done. They didn't seem at all surprised. As it turned out, they had their secrets as well. They, too, had powers, or gifts, as we came to call them. It was decided then that once a year, on Christmas, we would each go to a different location, pick one child arbitrarily and give them a second chance at life, the same way we had been given one.
Explaining to my father hadn't been all that difficult, and I could see in his eyes that he had more of an understanding than I had ever realized. He did, after all, believe in aliens and otherwordly occurences. I had a suspicion that he actually knew who had healed us...but it wasn't his secret to tell. Some things are better left unsaid, and whoever the angel was..my father was protecting him. I only hoped that somehow..wherever he was, and whoever he was, if he ever heard about our healings, that he would understand. I have no doubt that he is a real person..someone my father knew. And just like him, I'd like to believe that what we are doing is is a good thing. Perhaps it isn't right to play God, but I believe that fate had chosen us those many years ago to carry on the good that all of us recognized inside that gentle soul who came to us with healing hands and a heart full of love for all God's creatures.
*********
It's a few days after Christmas, and we have all gathered at my father's house. Each one of us with a story to tell about the child we healed. We always pick small towns..and we keep a record of each child. So that we can watch them over the years and help them should they be blessed with gifts of their own. Sometimes, there's a small writeup in the paper of the towns we visit about a child that suddenly recovered from an incurable illness, sometimes not.
Human nature being what it is, people do tend to believe in Christmas miracles..and since we don't leave any evidence behind like silver handprints, I don't worry about stories of our miraculous healing in Phoniex being dredged up again. Folks move on and forget, life goes on and there's always a new crisis to worry about, gas prices going up again, changes in the weather and the latest fashion trend.
We lift our glasses in a toast to the unknown angel. My father smiles..a twinkle in his eye as he joins the five of us. "To blessings in disguise, and angels, once removed." we all say in unison.
Later, after everyone has left, I stand outside on the porch and look up at night sky. My father joins me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and pulling me close. "You did good, Sydney," he whispers in my ear. "You've done your angel proud."
"Daddy," I whisper, "will you ever tell me who he was?"
He pulls me closer, his lips touching my cheek. "Maybe someday. " he says.
For now, the unknown angel shall remain unnamed. I rather like it that way.
The End