Rosamund's age-related disorder requires regular clinical treatments.
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Discomfort and a mild anaesthetic always leave her feeling unsteady; she dare not drive home from the doctor's surgery.
Recently, Rosemund, walking uncertainly, left the clinic just as her bus left the bus stop. It was cold and wet; darkness would fall before the next bus arrived.
As Rosemund pondered her options a young woman approached her: "Can I drive you somewhere?".
Rosemund accepted. The courteous woman, who lived in the same suburb, insisted in taking Rosemund to her own front door.
"She was an angel, I'm sure!" Rosemund laughed. "She came from nowhere just when I needed her."
A week or so later, Carmel came to a pedestrian crossing as an incapacitated elderly man attempted to cross the road. Carmel took his arm and together they crossed the road.
I took my cue from Rosemund: "You were his angel," I commented.
"No. He was mine!" Carmel emphasised. "He was so gentle and appreciative; the way he spoke to me made me feel good about myself."
Any reader of the Hebrew or Christian Bible finds repeated references to angels.
Consequently, even in this rationalistic age, the word "angel" makes us default to some heavenly be-winged creature.
But, is it necessarily so?
"Angel" is a word borrowed from the Greek: "angelos" means one sent or a messenger.
In those long ago biblical days, the timeliness and appropriateness of an individual's work was remembered long after their name had been lost or forgotten; it was enough to know that the person had performed some heavenly duty.
It still works that way today. Sometimes we're an angel; sometimes angels come to us.