Nobody gives angels enough credit. Not even God. They simply carry out their tasks, no matter what it may be. Mine, for example, is to check up on the humans. Easy enough, right? But, my job implies much more than that. What God apparently meant by “checking up on humans” was to live their lives. Granted, it was an effective way to check up on them, but an angel can only handle watching their assigned humans die so many times. 

 

My job entails as such: I get sent down to Earth, living inside someone’s body, staying in their mind until they die. Unfortunately, I can’t interfere with their lives in any way. Not that I’m not capable of doing it- I’m just not allowed to. Don’t want to get in trouble with the big man upstairs. And when my host dies, I escort them to heaven, or hell, or wherever they end up getting sent. And right after that, I’m assigned to another human, at some random point in their lives, just sitting there until they die. 

 

At first, I got attached to my hosts quickly. Even the more evil ones. But over time, after watching enough of them die, I just got used to it. Not in an evil or apathetic way, no, I mostly just chose to put myself out of their drama. And it worked. 

 

And now, I find myself being plunged down onto the mortal world again, ready to live someone else’s life for a while. 

 

I open my eyes again to a clean, white room, with many people standing above me, all in doctor’s clothing. I see tubes coming out of my nose, and hear a faint, constant beep to my right. Immediately I am granted my host’s memories. 

 

I am a 74 year old caucasian man named George Trellam. I have been single for the past 9 years after my wife divorced me, and I live a happy and independent life in Springfield, Ohio, as a potter. A year ago I was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer, and I am going to die tomorrow. The doctors have given me permission to spend my final day however I like. 

 

Immediately, I was shocked. Never before had I been assigned to the life of a dying man. Much less a man who would die the day after I was assigned to him. 

 

The doctors promptly left after telling me the news, and I got up out of my hospital bed. I took out all the tubes and wires, grabbed my cane, and left the room. 

 

Taking a bit of time to sit in his head, I read George’s thoughts. What would his reaction be to such horrible news?

 

...should make one last vase, just for Sally. A heart shaped one, too. I’m sure she would love that.

 

He had one day left to live and he was going to spend it making pottery? I couldn’t imagine doing a thing like that, if I was mortal. How good could such a job be?

 

But, his thoughts didn’t lie, and he made his way back to his quaint old home in easy time, and turned on his pottery wheel. His weak old hands grabbed a piece of clay, and got to work. 

 

I was watching in pure amazement. There was no anguish, no pain in his mind. He had even figured out how to tune out the tumor in his head. All that he was feeling was a simple pleasure, being content with himself and his work. 

 

Why wasn’t he even attempting to elongate his life? Why wasn’t he unhappy at all? Through all the lives I’ve lived in, nearly all of them had to be lived with a spouse, or kids, or a pet, or something in order for them to be happy. George had none of these in the house with him, and had to be the happiest man at the moment. What was his secret? 

 

George worked with elegance, every movement he was doing making his work better. He carefully sculpted the vase higher, and formed a lip at the top. Then, he took another strip of clay and rolled it out. With extreme accuracy, he wrapped it around the spinning vase, forming a beautiful spiral pattern. 

 

Why was he so happy?

 

And when all the work was done, he stopped the pottery wheel. He turned it towards him, and then lightly molded the rim of the vase into a nice heart shape. He picked up his work, and put it into his kiln. 

 

Next, with only the dying light of the sun shining in his kitchen, he prepared himself a scrumptious dinner of spaghetti and meatballs. Eating in silence, still no unhappiness was present in his mind. 

 

The only other thing he did that night was watch his favorite show on TV. He laughed heartily at the jokes, and was entirely invested in the show’s drama, characters, and plot. And he enjoyed every second of it. 

 

At this point, my usual strategy had completely failed. I was completely attached to George. He was such a content man, no person like this should have to live their life’s end by brain cancer. So, when he went to sleep that night, I took over. 

 

Yes, it wasn’t allowed. I didn't care. God would punish me later. 

 

I got onto his old, dusty computer and searched everything I could. No, angels like me did not know everything. That was God’s privilege, not ours. I searched up life-elongating herb blends, I considered forcing a round of extra-intense chemotherapy, I did everything I could while inside his old body. But nothing could help. George was too far gone. 

 

But, peering into his thoughts once again, I watched his dream. 

 

Don’t bother, he said. I’ll be okay. 

 

He was talking to me. 

 

I’ve never properly understood dreams as much as any being, but this was crazy. Did he somehow know? It was impossible. But, being inside of his mind, it was like he was looking right at me. So, I responded. 

 

I’ll leave you alone. 

 

And he did nothing but smile. 

 

#  #  #

 

The next morning, he got up at an early hour to paint last night’s creation. I did nothing but watch. He painted it with vibrant, sunny colors, each brush stroke laced with accuracy. On a card that he attached to the vase, he dedicated his creation to his ex-wife. It appeared that he still had feelings for her. 

 

And after all that was done, he got a call from the hospital. His presence was requested, and he had visitors. He was very surprised by this, but he went anyway. He brought the vase with him.

 

And finally, he was in his deathbed. The door opened, and many people came out. His grandchildren, his many friends, his ex-wife, and many others. 

 

“We came for you, George.” his ex-wife, Sally said. 

 

George was brimming with happiness. 

 

I hadn’t left him alone last night. I took control of his body one more time so I could call all these people to the hospital for him. George deserved it. 

 

“We’re right here for you,” they said. 

 

He called over Sally and gave her the vase. 

 

“I love it, George.” he said. “I love it very much.” 

 

And moments before he died, I understood why he was so happy. He saw life as his opportunity to make a difference. He understood that living it was a privilege, and that not a second of it could be wasted. And just doing what he loved was all he needed. 

 

And so, George died. He died just as happy as he was when he was making the vase, and I held his hand as I took him up to heaven. There was no question that's where he belonged. 

 

Rising through the clouds, all became white. George followed me without complaint, and finally we reached the pearly gates. Sitting on a cloudy throne next to them was God. 

 

“Welcome,” God said to George and I. 

 

“Are you God?” George asked. 

 

“I am,” he replied, “And from what I can tell you did a great job back there down on Earth. You’ve earned your stay here.” 

 

George grinned happily. 

 

“You’ll find your parents here, along with everyone you missed. It’s heaven, after all.” 

 

George walked through the gates and to the land of heaven, leaving me, God, and Earth behind. God turned to me. 

 

“I saw what you did.” 

 

“I apologise.” I said. 

 

“It’s okay. No harm was done. I am the one who should apologise, having to put you in a situation like that.” 

 

“Thank you.” 

 

“Now is your break, you know. You don’t have to work again for quite a while. You can even visit George, if you want.” 

 

I looked towards the now closed gates. “I think I will do that.” 

 

I turned to God. 

 

“And, is there any chance you can decrease the cancer rates a little bit?”

 

God smiled at me. 

 

“That sounds just fine.”