Heavenly Treasure

I wouldn't say that I ever seriously got into the fad of collecting angel figurines. There are only four statuettes on display in my room, one of which is marked with a date that goes back ten years ago.

The angel, a hand-painted figure made of resin, is a golden-haired little boy. Holding a songbook in one hand, he is poised to offer the Heavenly Master with a song of praise.

I bought this angel during one of my wanderings at a time when I was grappling with the grief of losing my firstborn infant. I had named him after a prophet who lived in Biblical times in the old testament.

The memories still come back, as tragic and as gripping as the day the misfortune happened. He lived for only 3 days, yes, but I knew him a great deal much longer and I cherish every moment that I felt his existence when I was still carrying him.

I could still hear his first cry in the delivery room, and remember seeing his eyes flutter open when I called to him in the nursery.

I was never able to hold him in my arms though, and whatever manner of suffering he might have endured I would never know. When I received the call the day after I was sent home, my mind just screamed. And I screamed.

The onslaught of why's, guilt, and regret could somehow only be slowed with this faith that he was called home to heaven and that that would have been the best place for him to continue living.

I have this hope that one day I'd see him even in dreams. My ten-year old son and I could take walks and I would share with him stories of his younger sister, who still does not know that an older brother ever existed.

If some believe that God assigns a guardian angel to watch over His believers, and that infants go straight to Heaven when they die, then I would wish that God would grant a special request that my son be my designated angel.

The belief that my son is watching, invisible to my human eyes, and hearing my every whispered "I love you and miss you" may not be validated as Christian truth, though it is for me, as the only possible means by which I could accept the non-negotiable reality of the dear treasured life taken from me.

And if a life of eternity in heaven does hold its promise, then may it have a place for us, my son and I, to acquaint ouselves and make up for the time we lost.