Life with an Angel (Chapter 1, page 1 of 10)


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Chapter 1

"The Road to Heaven is Through Life..." MM It was an early November morning as I was traveling down Indiana Highway 44 to Bloomington, Indiana, from Shelbyville. Although it was a rainy, gloomy day, I still enjoyed traveling through southern Indiana, with its rolling hills and pastures. It seems to me these kinds of days, when you have to go to a funeral, are always cloudy and rainy. The funeral was for the son of a friend, and I felt I needed to be there. He was one of those guys you really like, but to lose a son must have been unbearable. Even with what I have learned about life and death, it is still hard to cope with death. This three-hour drive gives me time to reflect and think about the story I need to tell.

It is about my life with an Angel. I have been putting it off because the story has not quite come to an end yet. I know I should have started it a lot sooner, but I'm not really a writer and we weren't sure which one of us would write it. I do know this: the story is probably the last worthwhile thing I will do in my life.

As I write this story, it is my hope that it will help young people who read it cope with life and, more importantly, with death. I hope baby-boomers will read it as well, for they need to know what we know.

The story is about an Angel named Mary Margaret. My name is Joe Anderson, and this is our story about our life with an Angel.

It began in the late 1950's. Mitch, my little brother, was ten and I was twelve. It was a wonderful time when life for me was fun and carefree. Mitch and I lived on a farm located in Shelby County, Indiana. The farm was on twenty-six acres overlooking the Brandywine Creek. It was a beautiful setting, as the back of the house looked down on a meadow that stretched right up to the creek. The scene outside my bedroom window was always changing with the seasons. Fall was my favorite. On many occasions, I enjoyed seeing large numbers of deer running through the meadows and drinking water from the creek.

It was a time when I was beginning to feel I was the man of the house, because Dad was always busy working around the farm, working in the fields, and at times, traveling long distances to attend agricultural conferences. Mitch was the baby, and I always thought of him as soft and spoiled. I would teasingly say, "Mitch, when I was ten, I was out hunting squirrels with my .22 rifle; you just sit around sucking your thumb."

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