Lifted by Angels

Lifted by Angels

My husband, Dean, and I took an amazing trip to Alaska, for our thirty-fifth wedding anniversary. We discussed it, but decided not to pay for excursions.

“The hiking at the last few stops has been breathtaking,” I said. I simply couldn’t imagine we would see anything more spectacular if we paid, and this gave us some precious alone time, something as the parents to four millennials, we had not had in quite a while.

My simple, rubber-soled shoes took me all over Alaska. I logged more than 20,000 steps every day we were in port!

Our last day took us to Seattle. It was a beautiful day and we enjoyed the fresh air as we walked all over the Pike Place Market, where we bought fresh-cut flowers from a huge flower stand that had every flower you could imagine, well, at least every flower I could imagine. The flowers were for my cousin who was hosting a BBQ in our honor that night, so we could see my family before we left for home in the morning. We took photos near the historical bridge, where we met up, that was scheduled to be demolished soon.

I told Dean that I needed to stop at a thrift store for something for the items we’d purchased, to take home on the plane. There was one on the way downtown, so Dean dropped me in front and found the only available parking spot, two blocks away. I ran in and checked what was available, checking zippers to see if they still worked, making sure they were clean and smelling my way through all of them. I found the best candidate, an army-green duffel bag with wheels.

I paid and started my way to the car. I crossed the first street, and maneuvered around all the construction that was going on the street and as I stepped off the second curb, my foot stopped, but my body continued forward. Then my other foot followed and I fell into a heap, in the middle of the busy crosswalk. My duffel flew in front of me. I screamed and looked to my left to see a truck grill and bumper heading my way.

At that moment, the most beautiful man I have ever seen stepped out in front of the truck and stopped it as he motioned with his open hand. The driver stopped for this athletic man, with long, wavy, blond hair. The stranger looked at me with the most pure blue eyes I’ve ever seen. He almost glistened.

I tried to get up but I couldn’t budge. My feet were all tangled and folded up underneath me. As the beautiful stranger came over to me, a female that I couldn’t really see came from behind, and together they scooped me up from under my arms. Firmly, but gently, they raised me from the street.

The woman said, “You are going to be fine. My name is Rachel and we are here to help you.”

Another lady picked up my duffel and the three of them helped me across the street and half a block to the car. I glanced at the handsome man holding me up and he smiled at me, but never spoke a word.

I remember screaming in pain, all the way to the car, but I made it, thanks to this amazing team. I know pain after delivering four babies, believe me!

They opened the door and gently helped me into my seat. I looked at them and Rachel and the beautiful man both smiled.

Dean said, “What happened?”

I glanced in his direction and said, “Just a minute.” I wanted to thank my heroes. When I looked back there was only the lady who had carried the duffel bag for me.

When I asked her, “Where did the others go?” she gave me a puzzled look as she handed me the bag.

“Thank you so much,” I said. “Please let the others know how grateful I am for their kindness and help.”

“What others? No matter. I’m just glad you’re safe.” She looked past me to Dean. “She needs to go to the hospital.” She shut the door and we drove off.

I screamed as I removed my shoes. Each foot had a golf-ball sized swelling and were misshapen. They were already turning purple.

Dean took me to the nearest hospital in this big city, where I was told I had two identical breaks in both of my feet.

The doctor said, “We call this a ballet break. I have practiced more than twenty-five years and I have never seen this bilaterally. How on earth did you make it to the hospital without a wheelchair?”

I was shocked when they admitted me to the domestic violence floor. They questioned both of us. “This isn’t the kind of thing you get stepping off a curb. This looks like a deliberate break. Are you sure you’re safe?”

When I reassured them that I was crossing the street to the car, on a grated street with construction and very soft rubber shoes that got caught up in it, they asked how I made it to the car.

I said, “I had help from some heroes on the street.”

They told me I wouldn’t be able to walk on my feet for at least three, maybe four months. My flight was in the morning but there was no way I was making that flight. They kept me in the hospital for three days until I was released to family members and was in Seattle for another week. They didn’t want me flying, due to the pressure on my feet.

I was so worried about all this additional cost, with the hospital, the walking casts, the walker, and ice packs, medication. Some anniversary gift! The Alaskan cruise was already out of our budget, but it was the only real vacation we had ever had, after our honeymoon to Hawaii.

I was so thankful for my family and how they cared for me until I could fly home again. My cousin handed me the duffel bag on my last day, as I packed everything on the bed. I unzipped all the pockets to start stuffing them and as I unzipped the last pocket, I found a small black book and an envelope.

“What is this?” I looked at my cousin and she shrugged. “No way!” The envelope held $20,000 in cash! Inside the book there was a little message” Let them know we exist. We are here to help. Believe. Journal your story and share it.

I called for Dean and told him, “I know this was not here when I purchased this duffel.” I placed an ad in the local paper that said: Found a treasure in a thrift store bag. If you can correctly identify the contents and bag, then it will be returned to you.

For the next month, you can believe me, I received so many messages, but none of them matched the description. I knew this gift had been meant for me to help pay for my hospital bills and my slow recovery to heal from two broken feet.

I started journaling in that beautiful, little, black book. So now, you can read my story, which is really their story. I am here to tell you angels are real. They are all around us. I am eternally grateful for them.