On this day 30 years ago, the angel who was sent to save my life was born. Every year I make it a point to celebrate the day, and the life of the one who was tasked by the Divine to rescue a sick, battered orphan.

I don't know what purpose I was saved for. Take a bullet for the president? Find a cure for something? Heed the Oracle of Steyn?? No idea. All I know is that I was down as low as a person could get, and as I lay in a hospital bed and opened my eyes, I saw him there, and for the first time I saw the golden light around him. And I began to believe. For the first time in my life, I had faith.

I tend to think that after all these years he probably wouldn't care much for the person I've become in terms of politics and ideals. Perhaps if he knew how I saw him, he may even rue his participation in my continued existence. For of course, he never knew he was doing the work of someone more powerful that himself. In his mind he was just a kind boy caring for a sick girl. But he was so much more than that: he was put in my path for a reason.

If I chose to I could pick up the phone and once more hear his voice, but I have chosen not to. His work with me is complete, and I won't bother him in his life. He is successful and happy and brilliant and everything I knew he could be. That is his reward. I'll not spoil it.

He continues to be the standard by which I judge all humanity. Not just the impossible standard that no man could ever hope to live up to, but the standard by which ALL humanity is measured. Will any of us ever measure up? I hold out hope - he taught me to hope.

Happy birthday, my angel. And thank you for this life you have given me. It isn't always easy, but I owe it to you to try.

Labels: Ghosts, Personal