An Angel Called My Name: Incredible true stories from the other side. Theresa Cheung
of humour. I often feel them smiling or laughing with me – especially when daft things happen, like the time I bought a brand new trendy leather jacket and trousers to impress an editor I was going to work with. When I turned up at her office the doorman told me that I should leave my delivery around the back! Angels don’t always take themselves seriously and sometimes they try to encourage us to do the same by communicating their love through humour, as Sarah’s delightful story shows.
The Final Chapter
My family is extremely close. Every year since we were children we gather together for Christmas and it is always a time for love, laugher and celebration. The same people, the same delicious food, the same jokes! It may seem boring to some people but it is comfortable and cosy for me.
Year after year we share wonderful moments and memories but in the last few years I noticed not just my own advancing age but my father’s slower pace as well. Last year, after dragging the Christmas tree up a flight of stairs, his eyes bright with anticipation, he fell and broke his hip. His routine hip surgery went well but the medical team noticed a problem with his blood count and ordered further testing. The tests revealed that dad had liver cancer.
And so that Christmas instead of laughing over our mince pies we were sitting anxiously in a hospital waiting room. About three months and two different hospitals later dad was finally allowed to go home. We made the day really special. We bought him all his favourite food, music and books and he spent the next few weeks reading, relaxing and chatting with us all.
Although we knew it was coming, the morning my mum woke to find that he had died in the night was still a shock. Feeling numb with grief I helped plan the funeral. Our family was incomplete now and I wondered if we would ever laugh again. Dad had always been such a practical joker and his lively, curious mind meant that conversations were never boring. I was 45 years old and I had never spent Christmas without my dad – I couldn’t imagine it without him now. There were too many things that would not be the same.
My grief was nothing compared to my mother’s loss and loneliness. After a long and happy marriage it was disorientating for her to be alone in the world without the sound of his voice, without the comfort of knowing he was there in the next room reading his books, waiting for her to join him.
I’ve always been an early riser, like my mother, and now with my dad gone I was up even earlier than normal. I didn’t want mum to go without the sound of someone’s voice for too long, alone with her thoughts and memories. One morning her voice sounded different. It was full of surprise and wonder instead of the sadness I had grown used to.
‘I have a mystery in my hands,’ she said, holding a book out towards me. She then went on to say that when she had got up that morning she found a copy of The Da Vinci Code open on the floor. ‘How did it get there?’ she asked me. I didn’t have a clue. My mum was a very tidy person. She didn’t read in bed and books would always be put away downstairs in the bookcase.
Later that day I shared the story with my husband, Robert, and he stared at me with his mouth open. ‘That is incredible. Don’t any of you remember what your mum said about the last conversation she had before she went to bed the night your dad died? When she helped him into bed he asked her if he could finish reading the final chapters of The Da Vinci Code because he wanted to know what the ending was. And she said it was too late but when he woke in the morning she would make him a cup of tea and read him the final chapters herself.’
Listening to this, my eyes started to sting as I pictured in my head my mother kissing my dad for the last time. So it was dad who had left the book open on the floor that morning. The open book was his light-hearted way of saying that there is another life after this one. He was just reading his final chapters in another room and waiting for us to join him.
Another story – this time from a man called Mark – and another angel with a sense of humour.
Divine Comedy
I was in a state of complete panic when I lost my mobile. Today was a crucial make or break day for me at work. My mobile had all my business contact numbers and without it my day would be chaos. I started to beg for help from on high. I wondered if angels really existed. If they did, would they really bother helping me find such an everyday item?
I remembered that I had stopped in a coffee bar that morning. It seemed logical to go back there to see if some kind soul had handed my mobile in. On entering I saw that the place was packed and the staff rushed off their feet. I was about to leave when a barista clearing up a table asked me if I was looking for something. I told her I may have lost my mobile and was delighted when she said that she had found one and put it safe behind the counter. When she came back with my mobile in her hand I wanted to thank her personally, so I looked at her name card. Her name was Angelina. I hadn’t seen her at the coffee bar before and I haven’t seen her since.
One of the things I have always found so hard to accept about spiritual retreats and gatherings is that everyone looks so serious and earnest. I remember once going to a summer solstice celebration. When I got there almost everybody was wearing black and the ‘celebrations’ consisted of mournful music playing in the background, lectures about the looming threat of global warming and if you didn’t fancy that you could sign up for an impossibly difficult yoga session with a teacher who had had a sense of humour bypass. The only refreshment on offer was watered-down orange juice and rich tea biscuits. I’m not joking! Thankfully, stories like the ones above prove that not only do angels have a sense of humour, they also love to hear the sound of our laughter. They don’t take themselves too seriously and neither should we.
As well as lightening our hearts with laughter and offering gentle messages of comfort, guidance and inspiration to those willing to listen with an open heart and an open mind, angels can intervene more directly in our lives through the healing power of touch. What Kate experienced offers powerful testimony that angels don’t always conform to the stereotypical ‘mystical’ image, complete with wings and white gowns. They can also be extremely practical, direct and hands on.
Unseen Hands
On many occasions in my life I have felt that angels are near, but on one occasion I am certain that one actually touched me – or rather hit me.
I was 15 at the time and boys rather than angels were on my mind. My mum was very health conscious and always nagging me to eat my fruit and vegetables. She used to put a bowl of apples in my bedroom in the hope I’d snack on them rather than on junk food.
One night my brother was staying overnight with a friend and my mum went to bed early. It was a situation I loved – staying up late in my room with the door shut, listening to music and dreaming about a boy I fancied with no one to bother me or send me on errands or tell me to tidy my room. I had a chilled-out night and at about midnight I decided to go to bed. I got changed into my night clothes. I felt a bit peckish and for once was grateful to my mum for leaving a bowl of fruit in my room.
I grabbed an apple, took four or five very big bites, turned out the light and flopped into bed lying face down.
It felt as if my lungs were bursting and I couldn’t get any air. I tried to call mum but could only gasp. A piece of apple was stuck in my throat. I was choking to death. Suddenly I heard the door open. I heard no footsteps but someone whacked my back once. The blow was hard but I spat out the piece of apple and air instantly filled my lungs. I rolled over expecting to see my brother or my mother. There was no one in my room. The house was as quiet as it had been all night.
Still shaking, I stumbled into my mum’s bedroom and woke her up. She was astonished and we both searched the house. My mum asked me if I had been dreaming but I told her I most certainly had not. I had felt this huge hand on me. My mum asked me to turn around and she gasped and told me to have a look over my shoulder in the mirror. Although it was beginning to fade there was a definite mark on my back but it wasn’t the mark of a normal hand it was the mark of something much bigger.
I can recall the events of that night as