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Must Have Been an Angel This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.


   Alexa was born the day my mother died. God's angels flew down from heaven, dropped offone soul and carried another up into the clouds. I never understood why He woulddo such a thing - bring a child into this world without a mother, a nurturer anda friend. Why would He do that?

Alexa is three years old now. I stillcan't believe that autumn day when the hospital was roaring. It had to be one oftheir busiest days, with some people rolling down the halls, tubes every whichway, and others walking in with injuries. I sat beside the vending machine andwatched children plead for change to buy a candy bar, listened to middle-aged mentalk about the Jets playing the Bears while grabbing a Pop-Tart, and saw an oldwoman digging through her purse while leaning against her walker so she could getthose gummy bears she'd been craving.

I also saw some other things. I sawthe look on my daddy's face when the nurse, dressed in pink scrubs with slippersand hair bundled into a shower cap, spoke with such an innocent voice, leading usup to Room 329. My father walked with the same hurried, long stride as the nurse,but I followed behind with small slow steps, counting the cracks on the tiledfloor.

The nurse mumbled about some sort of complication, but I was toofar back to hear. They walked side by side, stopping at the elevator. We allwalked into the box and waited to be lifted to my mother. We floated up with easeand when we arrived, I heard a ding as the doors opened. My grandmother waswaiting for us. Everyone was so tall they towered over me and I couldn't hearwhat anyone whispered. Their eyes were teary but no drops fell. I hid behind mygrandmother's leg as I saw doctors rush into the room down the hall. They wereshouting that they needed crash units. I didn't understand.

We all headedtoward the glass window my mom lay behind. I was just tall enough so that when Iraised to my tippy toes, my eyes could peer over the edge. There was my mother,hooked up to tubes and monitors surrounded by green and pink people. I could seeher hand clenched in a fist. I looked up at my father holding my grandmother inhis arms. Tears rolled down his face and were caught in his beard. Mygrandmother's face was pink and green streaked. I looked back through the filmyglass. My mother's hand now lay open, her arm hanging off the side of the bed.That annoying beeping sound stopped, and the lady in pink grabbed a curtain fromthe wall and circled my mother, leaving me to see only a shadow glowing withradiant light. He leaned over the bed, lifted my mother up into His arms, andbegan to float up a stairway. I just waved good-bye.




This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.






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