Square on December 1st at 5:00 p.m. December 1st is Angel's birthday and 5:00 p.m. is the exact time she was born. According to the flyer, the town was celebrating the start of the holiday season with a parade and carnival (her favorite activity). I couldn't have asked for a better sign.
Many months later, I happened to read about another bereaved mom named Ruby who claimed to be in regular contact with her son. I emailed her and inquired whether she could ask her son to make sure someone was watching over Angel in heaven. I also asked her why my daughter did not speak with me the way her son seemed to speak to her. Below is her response. Keep in mind that this woman knew nothing about me or my daughter. Ruby had never been to my house. I never told her how my daughter died and that I had found her on the floor in her bedroom. There is also no way she could have known that I had since remarried and that the kitchen is one of the rooms where I miss my daughter the most.
Here's what she wrote:
Last night during our before bedtime chat, my son invited your Misty Angel to join us. It seems that Ben had been looking over my shoulder and read your e-mail. At first, she was very quiet and gradually told me that she watches over you, especially when you're in the kitchen. She said to tell you that her time had been decided before the earth was created.
She completed her purpose for coming and you are to know that's the reason God chose you as her mother. She says to tell you that she's no longer fifteen and that she is growing up but will not grow old so you needn't worry. When you get there, she'll still be your same little girl, only in adult form. Also, she now loves her stepdad and is happy he's in your life. She doesn't want you to be lonely or sorrowful. Ben says your daughter smiles and laughs a lot, and Angel says that's how she wants you to remember her, not in the bedroom.
She couldn't stay to say goodbye because you couldn't have let her go and she had to leave as Jesus, Himself, took her hand and raised her up. You didn't do anything wrong; nothing was your fault. She says, “You're the angel, Mom, not me!” She thanks you for the love you gave that she took with her.
She hasn't contacted you outright because she doesn't want you to put her first in your life the way you used to do. She wants you to live, laugh, and have fun, fun, fun—that's what she wants for you.
One of my daughter's best attributes was the way she always wanted to have fun. She would always say, “Mom, you need to laugh more often and have more fun.” Ruby knew nothing about me yet she was able to correctly answer questions I had asked my daughter. I have no doubt that every word came directly from my Misty Angel.
Angela Denes
Ohio
I remember standing in our living room when, out of the blue, my three-year-old daughter Logan proudly announced that she was going to be an angel. No one else was around, and we were not talking about anything. In fact, I was quietly dusting when she sought me out.
“I be an angel,” she said.
“An angel,” I asked.
“Huh, Hun, an ardian angel,” she replied.
“Oh, a guardian angel,” I repeated correcting her,
Half laughing with my emphasis on the letter g.
In a matter-of-fact and rather serious tone, she answered, “Nues,” her word for “yes.” Glancing down towards the floor, she appeared somewhat ashamed and yet relieved at the same time. Shrugging her shoulder, she walked out of the room with nothing more to say. One week later, my little girl was killed in a tragic accident.
Since her death, I have received many signs from heaven. On one particular night, I had a dream of Logan; only it was more real and not like a dream. In it my little girl came to me for a visit. There was an unmistakable higher presence that accompanied her. I vividly remember being afraid to even touch her because I knew she had died and was in spirit form.
Despite my fears, I still wanted very much to hold her so I asked this presence for permission to hug and kiss my daughter, and it was granted. Logan never said a word. But she let me touch her, and I found myself kneeling down on her level to give her a kiss.
I put my arms around her and gave her a big tight squeeze while I savored the skin-to-skin contact my lips made with her soft cheek. As I was holding her, I acknowledged and thanked this other presence. I couldn't see anyone else but knew someone was there allowing this to take place.
I felt a feeling of urgency rush through me and understood that her appearance was only temporary. As I was hugging her, I remember asking with my thoughts, not my voice, “Please, just one more moment?” It was allowed, and then they both left.
The next morning after awakening and doing my chores, I was interrupted by the ring of the telephone. It was my mother. She asked how I was and then told me, “Last night, I asked Logan to come to you in a dream.” My mother now had my undivided attention as she went on to tell me, “I was driving home from work, and I asked Logan to do me a favor.”
I was so excited to tell her that I did have a dream—a really good one! But before I could finish, she interrupted me and said, “Wait! Let me tell you what I asked her to do.” I thought this was an odd choice of words for my mother, but I let her talk first. “I asked her to go to you and let you hug and kiss her. I asked her to make sure it would be very real, not like a dream.”
As she said this, I began crying remembering the dream. After she finished, it was my turn to share the dream I had. I know that Logan did that for all of us. She used my mother and me so that we would have each other to verify for the rest of our lives what had happened.
Several months later, I dreamed that our daughter was holding a cat in her arms when the tow truck ran over her. Next, I found myself at the hospital just like the night she died. The doctors were giving us the bad news, “We're sorry. There is nothing left we can do. She is not going to make it and neither is the cat. We're going to lose both of them by morning.” In the dream, my child did die in the morning, but the cat she was holding lived. I remember angrily questioning how they could save a cat but not our child. I was mortified and awoke.
The next day I had to work second shift at the hospital. Toward the end of my shift, I decided to take a break and went outside. I was on the second floor of the hospital at the top of a set of concrete wall-lined stairs that lead down to the main floor sidewalk. A steel door at the top of the narrow stairs gave entrance to the hospital, and I was sitting at the top of them.
As I was sitting outside talking to Logan, God, and the universe, I was aware of the streetlight across the way. While I was sitting there gazing at the light, trying to find a reason for all this pain and misery, I was deep in thought, “Logan, I know you can let me know you're OK. That is all Mommy really needs to understand. I can deal with the pain of living without you as long as I know you are safe and are being taken very good care of. Could you
