The Angels Never Sang

The Angels Never Sang

The angels never sang the day I buried my mother. I think I half-expected them to. She looked angelic lying upon the lace and satin. Her blonde hair fell around her shoulders in long blonde waves of silk. I remember staring down at her body, waiting for her to breathe again. I stood in the mausoleum alone without my father that morning. I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd never shown up. But of course, he needed to make an appearance for the sake of pretenses. And of course he felt the need to make rude comments under his breath regarding the bruises on her arms. Her flawless beauty was so brutally interrupted near her wrists. She'd seen too much of this world--too much darkness. Now she will forever sleep in an eternal night. Her brief life taken by her own hands. I reached up and tucked her arms beneath the satin, hiding her weaknesses from the world. Even in her last moments, my father couldn't give her the respect she deserved but then again, I wasn't quite sure she deserved it. She'd never given me anything. But somehow, deep down, I felt she could be forgiven for her bitter heart and hands that were always cold when they held me. I felt she might not be condemned for eternity but still, the angels never sang.

The angels never sang the day I buried my father. It would have been foolish to expect them to. Unless of course, they were all fallen angels--the devil's companions. I wouldn't have even bothered having a funeral but there were actually a few of his colleagues that insisted on a formal ceremony to honor my father. I'm still not sure what we were honoring him for. In my opinion, he didn't deserve another second of my time. After all, I wasted most of my good years on following him around like an obedient child--even after I had become an adult. And of course, it left me bitter and resentful. I would have spat upon his grave if I had been alone that day, but alas, I wasn't. I'm certain my father will not be forgiven for his wicked ways and I'm sure he'd want it that way. And that's a good enough reason for me as to why the angels never sang.

The angels didn't sing when an enemy fell into my life uninvited. They didn't even sing the day I realized she was less of an enemy and more of a friend--something I'd never had before. Perhaps the angels were hesitant to sing their glorious song for someone such as me, and even more hesitant as to what my presence in her world would mean. Maybe they were waiting to see how I would alter her life; I can't help but wonder if they knew how she would alter mine.

If there's one thing I've learned after all this time, it's that she's the one person that could make the angels sing. I shouldn't have been surprised when I finally heard their voices, but I was. I assumed too many years had slipped by and my chance at happiness had passed; I was wrong. I never wanted to let her go in the first place, but I knew even then that I would find a way to be the man that she deserved. I sometimes think she may be one of the angels, giving me the encouragement that I need to make her mine, the hope when all seems lost.

When I saw her again, the angels began their song. It was quiet and serene at first, causing my pulse to quicken and my heart to race. When I kissed her again, the song grew louder, echoing in my ears long after our embrace had ended. When I held in her my arms throughout the night again, the song became loud and passionate, pounding inside my head and making it hard to breathe--a euphoria like I had never known.

I felt I would live my entire life without ever knowing what a chorus of angels might sound like--heavenly voices blessing the worthy. But now having heard their voices, I would relive my worst moments for an eternity if I knew it would make me deserving of hearing their angelic voices only once--if it meant I could hold Hermione in my arms for as long as I had breath in me. Because when she is with me now, the angels sing their glorious song, fill me with hope and I pray their voices never cease.