An Angel Called My Name: Incredible true stories from the other side. Theresa Cheung

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ one time from the doctor because his wife was down with flu and he needed to be there for her. He said he had tried everyone else before calling me but they were either on vacation or out shopping and I was his last hope. I surprised myself by agreeing. I drove to the doctors and picked up Thomas, feeling more than a little ticked off that I was doing something I really didn’t want to.

      Thomas was waiting outside the surgery. He said, ‘Thank you,’ as he got into the car and shifted clumsily in his seat. I glanced at him nervously in my rearview mirror throughout the journey. He was watching the passing scenery with curiosity and excitement; just like my children used to when they were younger. He said nothing as I drove him to his care home, except, ‘Thank you again,’ as he was leaving. I watched him hobble into the centre and then drove slowly home. It was only when I was close to home that I realized that the lavender smell had mysteriously vanished from inside my car – or perhaps I had simply grown accustomed to it.

      Alan called that evening to ask how everything went and to thank me. As the experience hadn’t been as unpleasant or as inconvenient as I thought I found myself agreeing to be Thomas’s taxi when Alan went on his holiday. And something amazing happened to me during those ten days. The time I thought I didn’t have began to appear. I started to call Thomas by his name and he called me by mine. He was a man of few words but they were well-chosen words. On the last day we didn’t go directly back to his care home. We stopped for a drink instead. I started to like this guy and although I saw people around him do a double take, it didn’t matter to me any more. When I dropped him off for the last time that day and said he should expect Alan in the morning he turned around and said, ‘Thanks mate. People never cease to surprise me. I had you down as a guy who only thought about himself and making money. I was wrong. That will teach me to judge others by the way they look.’

      I couldn’t believe Thomas was saying that. I was the one who had judged. I was the one who had got it wrong. When Alan returned from his holiday he was keen to hear how things had been going with Thomas. I told him everything had been fine; more than fine in fact, and I liked the guy. I was curious so I asked Alan to tell me a bit about Thomas and how he had ended up like this. Alan then told me that Thomas had once been a surgeon but had been forced to give up the job he loved after being hit by a cyclist five years earlier. The accident had left him with head, leg and back injuries from which he would never recover. He had no living relatives or family to take care of him. He now required daily medical monitoring and daily medication. He had seizures quite regularly, wobbled when he walked and couldn’t drive.

      Alan went on to tell me that he had witnessed one of the relentless seizures Thomas suffered from. During the seizure Thomas had lost control of his bodily functions and vomited on himself before losing consciousness. Paramedics had to be called to clean him up and get him back on his feet. Thomas felt deeply embarrassed by these incidents and concerned that other people might be bothered by unpleasant smells. He overcompensated by zealously washing and using bottles and bottles of lavender fabric conditioner on his clothes.

      Driving in my car the next day, and the day after, without Thomas to pick up or drop off didn’t seem so great. I had this fabulous car and this fabulous life but I missed helping Thomas. Somehow when I had been his taxi I hadn’t felt so lost or directionless. I called Alan to ask if he would like to share the rides with Thomas. Alan happily agreed and for the next 18 months Thomas became a part of my daily routine and my life.

      Although Thomas died over eight years ago, to this day his lavender scent is indelibly inscribed in my senses. I really met him against my will. If it were my choice I never would have allowed this helpless and unkempt looking man into my precious car and into my life. But Thomas taught me that angels can appear in many different forms and in circumstances you cannot expect or anticipate. I still don’t know why my car smelled like him before he had even got into it. One thing I do know is that the scent of Thomas taught a man suffering from a debilitating case of self-centredness and a critical case of hardness of heart to open his heart and his mind. That man was me.

      George’s story shows that angels can take us on journeys we didn’t know we needed to go on and transform our lives in the most unexpected ways. In translation, the word ‘angel’ actually means messenger, and because the messages angels bring are always those of wisdom, guidance and inspiration they are also teachers.

      Although Ruby did not recognize a distinctive scent as George did, she very clearly received a powerful and life-changing message from her angel. In her own words, she tells her story.

      Lighting Up

      Dad died of lung cancer when he was 62. Mum died of heart disease when she was 67. Like them I was a heavy smoker. When I was growing up, I used to think smoking was kind of glamorous and romantic. I associated it with laughter. When money was tight and they couldn’t buy their cigarettes mum and dad would argue, but when they had them dad would light mum’s cigarette.

      I used to steal cigarettes from mum and dad; I don’t think they ever realized. I would go into the bathroom and practise looking sexy as I exhaled. By the time I was 16 I was already smoking at least 20 cigarettes a day. Smoking stopped me eating too much and gaining weight. Whenever I felt nervous smoking gave me confidence.

      The first thing I treated myself to when I got a job was a beautiful gold lighter with my initials inscribed on it. As the years passed and anti-smoking legislation began to take hold I enjoyed smoking more than ever. There was an instant sense of camaraderie among the smokers clustered in tight-knit groups outside buildings. I didn’t have to try hard to make friends.

      At the age of 33 I started to get a cough just like my mother. It was hard to run for the bus, up a flight of stairs or after my four-year-old son without struggling for air.

      About a month after my dad died, I was sitting down, exhausted, in front of the TV and lighting up with my gold lighter. Wondering how I was going to take care of my son, handle my fulltime job as a PA and look after my mum who was now wheelchair-bound after a stroke, I had a sense that my father was sitting beside me. Unnerved I grabbed another cigarette and reached for my gold lighter. It had vanished. I tore the sofa apart but couldn’t find it anywhere. It still hasn’t turned up to this day.

      Over the next five years mum’s health rapidly deteriorated. The night before she died she begged me to stop smoking, and told me she didn’t want me to end up like her. She didn’t want her grandson to always be able to tell when I was coming because he could hear my hacking cough. As she lectured and pleaded all I could think of was going outside to light up. This is something I guess only a smoker can understand.

      I never felt more alone after mum died. I missed her laugh, her love, even her cough. I smoked more than ever as somehow it made me feel closer to her. Then strange things started to happen. I would buy a pack of cigarettes and find them missing from my shopping bag when I came home. If I was outside matches would never light and lighters would never work. Or I’d start coughing so badly I couldn’t keep a cigarette in my mouth long enough to smoke it. And then when I finally managed to light up something would distract me; the phone would ring and there would be no one there, pictures would fall off the wall or a light bulb would blow. It really freaked me out.

      Then when I was sorting out mum’s things I found a letter addressed to me. In it she begged me once again to quit smoking for my own sake and for the sake of her grandson. She didn’t want my life to be cut short like hers had been. She wanted me to write a list of all the things I wanted to do. She wanted me to set a date to quit.

      Mum’s letter got to me. I circled a day to quit on my calendar and as I did I felt a bolt of energy go through my body. My parents were there with me, spurring me on. A day before the date I was in a panic. I had been a smoker for as long as I could remember. Cigarettes kick-started my day, kept boredom away, helped me feel confident, helped СКАЧАТЬ