My Angel Angela

She had broken wings.
I do not know how they first got broke.
The wings of a sweet little angel.
I met earlier than expected.
She tried to fly on her own but could not.
She needed help.
Love could not mend her.
My love did not break through.
It took a stronger love to rescue her.
From herself.
"She flutters and tries to fly but falls to the ground. She tells me, "Oh I'm okay" "I am a
grown bird and I can fly on my own" "I don't need your help"
I watch her fall as life goes on.
I watch her wounds.
I watch her bleed.
I anguish year after year.
I let go.
I let go into the strongest hands I know.
As I watch her broken body flail and suffer.
I watch her give.
I watch her create.
I watch her drift.

February 2nd was the last time I saw my precious daughter Angela Hope Smith alive. Or did I see her truly alive, ever? Yes as a small young girl. Some as a young adolescent and teenager. I and her dad (my ex) Mike named her on her birth as we struggled to come to a name we agreed upon. and on April 20th, 1987 she arrived 7 weeks early. Earlier than we expected. Hope was the name I gave her and Angela was the name Michael gave her. I loved both names and so did he. I watched as they rescesitated her little body. I named her hope as she survived her premature birth. Off they took her to Danville. To the NICU. It was scary and surreal to walk to her little incubator after passing every tiny infant there passing parents in rocking chairs to the last bed to our little miracle. Angela was an amazing writer, deep thinker, pain hider, music lover, amazing, creative cook, introvert with a deep dark beauty and intrigue for which she kept mostly private. Why could I not reach that private place?? I raised, gave birth, taught 6 years of homeschool, and feel as though I did not know this flesh and blood child of mine. My heart is shattered and Jesus is holding every single piece.
My daughter had some form of emotional illness all her life. It grew to be noticed as she got older. It lasted 25 years. God took her out of her pain at age 25. He said, "Enough." She could not rescue herself, She could not even really cry for help. She tried in ways but it was never loud enough and she could never let someone really reach her deep sides to help. She could not speak for herself. She is in Jesus arms and the beauty of heaven with no more tears.