I used to wrap my arms around you all the time so I know how your husband feels when he folds you into his arms. You could never feel me holding you but you can feel him. Seeing that makes me so happy.
I watched you hurt yourself, not feed yourself properly, be careless and stubbornly ignore all my signs and advice. Just like you watching your son when he was younger; so you see I know how much it hurt.
I introduced you to potential teachers and to sensible people who might have been helpful or supportive but you would only listen to people in black jeans with spiky hair. So set in your beliefs that you were flaky and incapable that you acted it out and made it true: getting up late, being disorganised and letting people walk all over you.
Watching you suffer, all alone. I suffered, feeling the moments when you felt incapable. Other times I wanted to yell. I think once I actually knocked a cup over.
I tried to get you to be spiritual. Angels hummed around you. You’d find it in music sometimes, but you drank too much and it dulled your senses. Maybe you’d have been better off getting into raves and ecstasy (not that I am allowed to prescribe that kind of thing), but you hated the orange and yellow clothes and so you stayed miserable in black.
There were dark moments but I always had faith in you. But oh, you were stubborn! I used to throw snowballs, shatter sunbeams before your eyes, line up twenty cats along a road for you to say hello to… But you were blind and gradually it all cemented over until all I could do was watch; I couldn’t even try to communicate with you anymore.
And so when it finally happened, when the cement was scraped away and the well lid was forced open… it was like witnessing a miracle- and I’m used to them. To watch you sitting cross legged on the floor, phone in one hand, the other hand clutching your chest, feeling like your chest was being cracked open with an axe, love and light flooding in… I will never forget that.
So when I hear you thinking about hanging yourself, alarm bells ring loudly. Of course, I send Love blazing down to you but it needs more. The best treatment is to give you something to do that is a bit scary and challenging, quite safe but enough to cause a little nervousness and get you into a minor flap. Something work related; you are so conscientious that you’d never not do it. So, it distracts you, gives you something to worry about like the M25 and the Dartford Bridge and afterwards it resets your mood and emotional state and we all breathe a sigh of relief.
The reason you have to ask angels to help you is not because we are meanly sticking to some kind of protocol; it’s because by asking you open a channel, it is closed otherwise and we cannot help. Even the ‘Oh God, help me’ in the toilet bowl we respond to but alcohol clouds consciousness and most people don’t remember or keep the channel open.
When an angel’s person commits suicide, it’s the hardest thing. If that person does not ask for help the channel is closed and although we are showing signs and sending messages all the time, if the person doesn’t believe anyone is thinking of them or that there is any help to be had, their angel’s wings are tied. I’ve seen angels whose people have killed themselves tear themselves apart.
You’re so easy really, nowadays. Rewarding. A little challenge and the sense of achievement you get is out of all proportion to the challenge itself; wide eyed you wander around a business park in Enfield as if it’s Wonderland. So happy, so full of optimism, noticing red berries on a bush, finding a pond, seeing a beautiful sunset and then sorting out your entire life over a Premier Inn dinner for one. You’re so easy now, it makes all the past worthwhile.