The World From Way Up Here

His mother gave his soul the name of Paul Henry Whitmore. I was present at his birth, just as every Guardian should be. I had witnessed the miracle of birth many times, more than most angels. But each and every time, I couldn’t help but wonder if I had ever experienced it myself during my human life. The memories were almost completely gone, all that remained of my existence on Earth was my name: Faye. Some angels chose to change their names when they reached Heaven’s gates, but I wanted to keep mine. I knew it was a piece of my old life that I would never forget. However, it was moments like Paul’s birth when I longed to remember if I had any children, if they were boys or girls, their names, their precious faces…

Enough about me, this is supposed to be about Paul.

The bright, beautiful soul I once cradled in my arms was transformed into a healthy, newborn, human boy. I watched his mother’s joyful tears roll down her cheeks as she held him for the very first time, easily as overwhelmed as I was. I took a moment to look at the young woman, Tracy Whitmore. Paul’s mother would assist me in guarding her son, protecting him from the physical world in ways that I could not. We would be lifelong partners, sisters, caretakers of the sweet soul she had introduced to the world. We would each give our lives up for his well-being, and this deep and unconditional love that we shared was the singular bond that held angels to Earth. Mothers were angels, and angels were mothers.

Long after the hospital had closed and the new family had rested their heads for the night, I began watching over Paul. I adored his plump cheeks and long, dark eyelashes. His head was bare of any hair, but so smooth and perfect. I smiled as his lips suckled the empty air and I pressed my gentle lips to his forehead.

Welcome, my Paul.

The first week of Paul’s life proved to be the most challenging of Tracy Whitmore’s entire existence. As a single mother, Tracy pulled help from her own mother and close friends, but her pride as primary caretaker sometimes got in the way of her ability to enjoy motherhood. There were times in the middle of the night when Paul would cry and never shut his mouth again until dawn broke over the horizon. I wondered why Paul kept shrieking like a seagull. His mother loved him dearly, and she tried everything to calm him down. Even I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with him.

There was one night in particular that Tracy snapped, crying just as loudly as her young son. It was then that I rested my hands on both of them, my left on Tracy’s shoulder and my right on Paul’s head. I allowed my calming, peaceful energy to seep into each of them, joining the three of us in body and soul. Secure, serene, and silent. That was the first time, but it wouldn’t be the last.

When Paul was five years old, his father made his first appearance. I could tell by his sloppy movements and stumbling feet that he wasn’t the type of man Tracy wanted to keep around, especially now that she had a son. Paul’s father demanded she allow their son into his life, but not even I believed he truly cared for the boy. Paul was afraid of the screaming and yelling, the noise much louder than anything he could have created himself, even when he was a newborn. He scurried off to his room and crawled into the space beneath his bed.

I was already there, suspecting he would join me when he was ready. We both listened while his mother’s voice deflected every slurred syllable of his father’s. Paul whimpered in fear, but I remained by his side, holding my arm around his back. We weren’t supposed to talk to them, but it wasn’t forbidden. I wanted him to feel safe, to know that soon everything would be just fine.

It’s alright, Paul. I’m here.

His whimpers became muted as he listened to my gentle voice, maybe wondering if I would speak to him again. His hair had grown in by now, thick and dark brown. It hung in his watery eyes a bit, and I longed to brush it back. I couldn’t physically touch him, just spiritually, but sometimes a slight feeling of safety didn’t help as much as a warm embrace. That was what mothers were for, and I knew Tracy would make up for what I could not.

The day Paul turned nine, he broke his ankle playing roller hockey with his friends, Jesse and Caleb. I was watching him when his skates left the pavement. I heard his gasp, but I knew I could not catch him. I tried to ease his pain as it shot up his leg and through the rest of him, even splitting into his soul. It was the first time he was hurt so badly, and it hurt me, too. He shrieked and moaned in pain and fear. I spoke to him again.

It’s alright, Paul. I’m here.

Just the knowledge of my presence seemed to give him solace, and for that I was grateful. This time, he seemed to question my voice, why he had heard it, and where it had come from. His mother drove him to the emergency room and the doctor provided him with a cast in blue, his favorite color. The same afternoon, Paul was playing video games with his friends, as if nothing ever happened to shatter his life or his bones.

Paul had his first kiss when he was thirteen. He was dared to kiss her by his friends, taunting and teasing him in a way that didn’t mean friendship at all. Paul’s fear of embarrassment crept into his soul. I knew he was looking for me, listening for my voice. He knew I was there to protect him.

It’s alright, Paul. I’m here.

Her name was Emily, she was a redhead. Paul didn’t really like her. In fact, he wasn’t very interested in girls yet. I knew he would be, though, and it would happen very soon. Either way, Paul sucked in a breath of bravery and released it onto Emily’s soft, pink lips. His friends were speechless, not at all expecting such courage and knowing very well they could never do it themselves. Paul’s precious childhood years were behind him, and he wouldn’t get them back. I would still watch over him in his adult life, I would watch over him for his entire life. He was mine, and he always would be.

Paul’s grandmother died when he was fifteen. He overheard his mother speaking to someone on the phone from the hospital. She was sick, very, very sick. Her life was full of pain and nothingness, it was her time to join us. Paul understood that, but he returned to his bedroom, sat on the edge of his bed, and stayed absolutely silent.

He didn’t know his grandmother was beside me as I watched over him. She held my hand and I held hers. Her name was Martha, and she was one of the most beautiful angels to enter Heaven’s gates. I wished Paul could see her this way. He would, someday. When it was his time.

Paul was choking back his tears, but Martha seated herself beside him. She rested her hands on his shoulders and triggered the waterfall from Paul’s blurry, green eyes. I took a seat on his opposite side, surrounding him with our comfort and peace. I leaned to whisper in his ear.

It’s alright, Paul. She’s here.

He gasped, his tears immediately forgotten. I stiffened when his attention turned directly toward me, his eyes in line with mine. He couldn’t see me; I wasn’t allowing him to see me. But he heard, he knew I was there. He knew I had been there with him all along, and his grandmother was here beside us.

Just when I started to believe he could truly see me, his eyes began darting around the room. “Hello?” he asked, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “Hello? Are you there?”

I was not supposed to speak to him…but it wasn’t forbidden

Yes.

He gasped again and stood up straight, looking toward his ceiling and then under his bed. “Who…Who are you?”

Martha wasn’t sure what I should say, either. I couldn’t blame her, she was very new to all of this. I was no novice. Paul was my one hundred and twenty third, yet I had no idea what to say.

I’m Faye.

“Faye,” Paul tested the name silently to himself. “You’re name is Faye?”

I had already spoken too much, but more words couldn’t hurt.

Yes, your grandmother is with me.

These words took a few moments to register, and more tears sprung to Paul’s eyes. “She is?” He sat down on his bed again, between the two of us. Martha smiled brightly and rubbed her hand up and down his back. “Are you…Are you an angel?”

For the record, he figured it out on his own. I didn’t breathe a word about angels.

Yes, I am, and she is, too. We will always watch over you.

Paul’s vibrant spirit was lifted. He continued to search the room, desperate to find where I was hiding. “Where are you? Have you always been here?”

I have always protected you, especially in the moments you needed me most.

“Why haven’t you talked to me before?”

You’ve never called for me. I will answer if you call.

Paul stayed quiet for a moment, resting his head back on his pillow. He waited another moment before saying my name. “Faye?”

Yes, Paul?

Martha and I both smiled as the grin spread across his face, traces of tears still in the corners of his eyes. “That’s cool. Well, it's nice to meet you, Faye.”

I smiled. I couldn't stop smiling while he talked to me.

It’s nice to finally meet you, Paul.