Deaths in winter are much more prevalent than in other seasons. Heading toward the anniversary of my father in law’s death, I am remembering his last day, and and the clouds on that day, and what happened at the hospital.
I’ve always wondered why these uncanny events happen to me. Does anyone else out there see bazaar things like (for lack of a better term,) the “angel of death” cloud ? Yes, someone else saw this fast moving cloud, and he remembers, too.
Al, my deceased father-in-law, had been given a six month time frame for how long he would survive with his cancer. Ten years passed, and I anticipated his decline when he had had a very disappointing experience.
Someone he believed in and loved very much had let him down. That someone, or the belief in that someone, was such a glimmering source of happiness for Al. When the illusion disappeared, so did vitality. That’s when this cloud rushed in outside of the hospital in a perfectly timed synchronicity of events.
Around the neighborhood, Al was known as a diamond in the rough. As a farmer, he lorded over his domain. He was a fighter to the nth degree.
The fight against cancer came to an end as I had anticipated. I felt sad for my husband’s loss, as we drove to the hospital on that cold and cloud filled day.
One of the sisters who had found religion was encouraging the drug laden father to accept the Lord into his heart. “Please, Dad, you’ve got to take him into your heart,” she said. More explanations, pleading and reasoning followed.
“I don’t know how. How do you . . .” and then he trailed off to somewhere in his drug induced state.
This dialog continued fervently, and impassioned with urgency though the sister was very patient in her communication.
During this phase, my husband and I were smokers. We found the born again Christian dialog to be questionable at best. So we left the room to go out on this cold winter day to have a smoke on the veranda of the hospital.
“Please, Dad, if you take Jesus into your heart, you will have everlasting life,” the sister continued.
And just at the end of an earshot, I heard the father reply, “O.k., let him get in there.”
We stood outside indulging our wicked habit. The skies were gray and overcast with clouds, but there wasn’t much wind. Suddenly, in the view of the horizon, two clouds appeared to be moving differently from the others. They were drifting in our direction, and away from the horizon, when I noticed what an odd shape they held.
Both clouds were cigar shaped. I’ve seen this before. But the second, smaller cloud was perpendicular. Together the form could be construed as a cross, or even an entity with arms stretched out at its sides. It came up on us so quickly and seemed as if it would actually sweep down between where we stood, and the adjacent hospital wing.
As a credibility check for this sometimes overly active imagination, I poked my husband. “Look at those two clouds – can you see that?”
Without me having to embellish anything, he saw it as clearly as did I. After recovering from this stunning event, he moved us toward going inside.
When we returned, Al had just then passed on to his death, just as quickly as the clouds had passed out of view.