Little Angel

A few days back from vacation, I ask the physical therapist at work about one of the little girls I haven´t seen since before leaving.

¨Donde Angelita?¨ (Where is Angelita?)

¨En cielo.¨ (In heaven)

The news is sad, but not too surprising. At eight, Angelita was among the oldest children as well as one of the sickest. Her head bulged out abnormally as if she had a tumor on the right side of her head (I think she had a condition called hydrocephalus, which I learned about in high school anatomy) and she couldn´t talk or walk.

Despite her deformity, Angelita had a beautiful smile that literally took over her face. She sat most of the time in a special chair, rapidly blinking her eyes and occasionally giggling at something--babies, noises or toys. Once, when I was throwing rubber balls into a playpen while cleaning up, Angelita started laughing at the site of the flying objects. From then on, when I remembered and had time, I would throw the balls in the air in order to entertain her. It was a good feeling that my simple actions could produce so much joy.

Still, Angelita was easy to overlook. She wasn´t cuddly and prone to jumping on visitors the way the toddlers are, and she wasn´t a tiny object crying like the babies who seem so in need of being held. When it came time to bring the kids to the lunch area, Angelita was usually the last one carried out due to the effort it took to lift her. I would hold her on my lap, but not to often since she was heavy and sometimes soiled me.

There wasn´t too much happiness in her life and I know her future would have been painful. I miss her now that she isn´t here but know she is in a better place. I picture her as continuously smiling while her eyelashes bat like the the wings of butterflies, as she is encompassed by the love that escaped her on Earth.