Guardian Angels: A Short Story


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They are, in literary terms, the Helping Hand of a benevolent universe.

Four Stories of Guardian Angels: Are These Heavenly Protectors Real or Fantasy?

Fewer people still believe in a benevolent universe - there is, after all, so much alarming evidence to the contrary - and we prefer our heroes to prove they can win through on their own resources. Child heroes these days need to be independent and self-empowered. But I do. He or she will certainly do their best, but the solution to the trickiest bit of the puzzle will come from a chance remark, or a bit of help and advice from an unlikely guardian angel type character.

As if a benevolent universe knew exactly what was needed, and was offering a Helping Hand. She is the force from beyond the purely causal, rational world, who, with the occasional quiet suggestion of an alternative possible course of action, changes the lives of everyone around. You may not agree that that is how things work in real life, but it is certainly how they ought to work…. The Old Gentleman in this wonderful story is the archetypal example of a guardian angel at work. The children all play their part but the decisive help comes from outside…. Terry Pratchett always knew there was more going on in the world than we could see with the purely physical eye.

His books are stuffed with an awareness of the deep forces at work in our world along with a healthy distrust of the lunacies of organised religion and Granny Weatherwax is probably my favourite of his many guardian angels. You know, when she turns up with her heavy boots and ferocious glare to lend a hand to Tiffany Aching, that things are going to get properly sorted….

Mr Blunden follows all the best traditions of a guardian angel. Clearly human, but somehow not fully from the physical realm, he knows things. Not that he ever forces anyone to do anything, of course.


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He just asks that they do as he suggests, and when they do One of my favourite books. One of the joys of reading the Jeeves and Wooster stories, is that whatever terrible mess Bertie Wooster might have landed in, you know that his butler, Jeeves, will, without any apparent effort, quietly sort the whole thing out before the end of the story.

The shelves of recent publications are not exactly filled with stories where problems are resolved by mysterious outside forces, which was one reason why reading this book was such a surprise.

Cally, in this story, has plenty of problems but it was the idea that she is still protected and watched over by the mother who recently died that qualifies it for a place on the list of books with guardian angels. That, and the fact that it is an utterly delightful read. I stop by the desk and talk to the intensivist the ICU resident. Thank you, Jesus! They had been here long enough—both of them.

Success stories are a good way to ease into the holidays, yes? He looks up at me, finally, and runs his hands through his sandy blonde hair and locks his hands together as he leans back in his chair. He smiles at me. The nurse is out of the room. The mom is snoozing in her chair. The room is for the child—not the parent. Except the two are inseparable—silly administrators. There are lots of things around here that are done against all common sense, it seems. I back up out of the room and move on to the next room. There are interns and specialists in for rounds, talking away while the exhausted parents sit with their heads in their hands, so I skip it and make a note on the sticky pad I put on the cart at the beginning of my shift.

Some of the other cleaners will skip and forget a room and a nurse with an overflowing garbage can, dirty countertop or floor littered with wrappers and little blue IV caps will give the charge nurse a piece of her mind. That will then reach my supervisor and the cleaner on shift will get an earful.

29 Inspirational Stories About Angels on Earth

Shit slides downhill, as they say. I slide into the next room and it looks like Grandpa has come in to sit the night shift. He is tall and barrel-chested, balding with a band of snow-white hair cropped close around his head. Grandpa looks up at me and smiles. I smile, my heart warming to this man who takes the time to talk to me. I start sweeping up the few pieces of debris on the floor. I have a few more things to get for my nieces and nephews.

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It was a perfectly valid question. After all, how would I know what kind of aunt you are? His eyes have softened, and even seem to be watering. Where is he going with this? She is a beautiful baby, with a single golden curl swirling up out of the top of her head. But I know that you have a heart full of love. I see it when you glide in and out of rooms so as not to disturb sleeping parents. You are always , and I mean always , smiling.

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You are full of joy and it just oozes out of you. Am I really so transparent? I try to mind my own business, to fly below the radar, especially with the parents. I am to be seen and not heard, mostly. You see all of this. The nurses are in and out and most of them are nice. A few are even quite friendly with me—especially Renee—what a doll. And I see you. What is your name? No formality. No more apologizing.

You keep our room nice and tidy. I come in here every evening and whoever cleans before you is a total failure. I have a tendency to daydream. I just wanted you to know that what you do around here is noticed and appreciated. Never had anyone expressed gratitude like this to me.

Just keep being you. He pulls out a small box and puts it in my hand, curling my fingers over it.

Renee walks into the room right as I pocket the box. I finally grab the garbage can and empty it in to the bag on my cart. Immediately, I take a deep breath, exhale and walk out of the room. Feeling a bit uncomfortable, I collect myself and move on to the next few rooms. Code Blue. ICU room I finally hear the alarm bells going off and see white coats running down the hall.

I see Renee run toward the supply room with a look of panic on her face. I plaster myself against the wall and try to hold in the burning tears. The alarm bells stop. I look up, with one eye open and see Renee, smiling. I breathe a sigh of relief, grab my cart and push on to the next room. You are commenting using your WordPress. You are commenting using your Google account. You are commenting using your Twitter account. You are commenting using your Facebook account. Notify me of new comments via email. Notify me of new posts via email. Writers Write A writer, writing. You can find information about all her classes here.

Guardian Angels: A Short Story Guardian Angels: A Short Story
Guardian Angels: A Short Story Guardian Angels: A Short Story
Guardian Angels: A Short Story Guardian Angels: A Short Story
Guardian Angels: A Short Story Guardian Angels: A Short Story
Guardian Angels: A Short Story Guardian Angels: A Short Story
Guardian Angels: A Short Story Guardian Angels: A Short Story
Guardian Angels: A Short Story Guardian Angels: A Short Story
Guardian Angels: A Short Story Guardian Angels: A Short Story
Guardian Angels: A Short Story Guardian Angels: A Short Story

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