A Guardian Angel

Last night, I think I met my guardian angel, sent from heaven to ask me if I was fulfilled in life, and happy. Or maybe it was my former husband, visiting me as a ghost of lifetimes past, to see what I was up to.



And, of course, I am even hotter, smarter and more successful than I once was. Ha.



His loss.



But, I digress.



I was walking Sadie last night, late at night. I had just gotten home from a really long day, and was still in my work clothes. I was walking my dog, late at night, in heels. (Really. Who does that?) I walked past a young guy, in his twenties, maybe, and as I passed him, he reached down to pet Sadie. It really wasn't a big deal until I realized he wanted to talk. Talk talk.



It is after midnight, and I am alone. In heels. With my dog, who sometimes bites her own foot and then looks at me, whimpering loudly as if to say, "OH MY WORD MAKE IT STOP!!!!" Seriously.



I was getting a little concerned for my safety, at this point.



He tell me his name (mental note! MENTAL NOTE!) and his takes a seat on the sidewalk. I notice his full length sleeve tattoos, the way his head is shaved, wondering if I could identify him in a police line up. (My dog, in the meantime, is licking him profusely and has practically crawled into his lap.)



He tells me that he is a nurse at a regional area hospital. And that he might be a little intoxicated right now.



He tells me of the night his sister died. Of how she was visiting him in Hawaii and she had a head on collision with another car. And how he recently committed his mom to a mental hospital in North Carolina because she couldn't handle the pain of losing a daughter.



And how she slit her throat yesterday with a piece of broken glass.



Oh my word.



I am SERIOUSLY CONCERNED for my safety, at this point.



I felt SO BAD for this poor guy- drunk on the sidewalk, in the middle of the night, mourning the loss of what little family he had, and covered in my dog's drool. But, I was scared. He was drunk and hurting and angry. And lonely.

And then, in a moment of clarity, he asks, "Are you happy?" (I kind of started to panic a little. Like when you get a little uncomfortable with a situation and then you get hives and then you get completely irrational and convince yourself that you are dealing with the next Jeffery Dahmer...? Maybe that's just me....)

"Of course!" I say. "I love my life, my job....."

"Do you feel fulfilled with what you do?"

I thought about that one. I thought about how I should answer, clearly, coherently (I was the sober (albeit, a little irrational) one here, after all). I compared it to what I used to do, which was teach. And I realized, that, Yes, I was fulfilled. I love my job, working with primarily underprivileged people, teaching basic computer classes. EDUCATING. EMPOWERING. MAKING A DIFFERENCE.

"Yes. I do feel fulfilled."

And he said "Good. That's good. You need to do what makes you happy. Life is too short to have a job you hate."

And on that note, he turned around, bid me goodnight, and went on his way, leaving both me and my dog standing there wondering what in the world happened.