She was almost three years old. She had long ringlets the exact color of honey, a cute little dimple in her cheek, and she was my baby sister. Her name was Angela, but my mom only named her that so she could call her “Angel”.

I was ten and it was a rough summer. My parents were going through a divorce, my older sister, Lisa, and I rarely got along, and Angel had been sick for a month. Her usual robust, cheerful zest for life was gone, and even though she only had a cold, she seemed to just lose interest in everything around her. She no longer leaped off the couch, her blanket tied over her shoulders, yelling a startling “Wubber Wooban!” (her hero, Wonder Woman). She stayed so quiet and sleepy all the time.

I remember one hot June day, my mother announced that she felt very strongly that Angel did not just have a cold, and she set off to see our family doctor, pushing Angel in the stroller. I watched them walk (we were too poor have a car since Dad left) until I couldn’t see them anymore, the sun making mirage lakes in the hot black road.

They didn’t come home until late that night. Lisa and I waited for hours, alone and scared for our baby sister. Dad was with them, and when I saw his car pull into the driveway, I knew something was wrong. Both my parents were crying. I had never seen my dad cry.

The words “Cancer”, and “Leukemia” swirled around in my head. Mom on the phone, friends coming over. Everyone crying. Angel had to stay in the hospital a long time. We weren’t allowed to see her for a while, and when we finally did, mom carried her out to us in the waiting room of the UC Davis Medical Center. We learned that we weren’t allowed in to the wing because if we gave germs to any of the sick kids, they could die. Mom held Angel out for us to gently kiss and hug for only a moment. She was so frail. It was then that my ten year old mind finally grasped that she could die.

She almost did. It was terrifying. We were told that she needed radiation and chemotherapy, which meant a forty-five minute trip every day to Sacramento. Without a car, and my father unable to take us, we faced the realization that Angel could die without a way to get to the hospital.

It was then that I learned that the Lord takes care of us by sending people to do His work. We prayed for a way to get Angel to the hospital, which was a tall order, for this was every single day! Who could take us every day? The people from our church appeared like angels. Not only did they organize daily rides for Angel’s treatments, but they always stopped at McDonald’s for Angel’s favorite “hangubers” – every day! They brought us meals, took us into their homes, and the entire congregation fasted and prayed together for her remission.

Angel got a cold that nearly took her life, and she lost that beautiful, curly, honey-colored hair, but she did go into remission. It was a long road, but she made it.

My sister is now twenty-seven years old. She is married and has blessed the lives of everyone around her by beating her Leukemia. She is generous, thoughtful, and creative, and has a great laugh. I thank God for the angels that provided the way for my little sister to live. They gave us a wonderful gift that truly lasts a lifetime.

P. S. . I don’t know if you knew this or not, but Angel passed away at the age of 28 last week. She will always be my “Wubber Wooban”! (Received May 8, 2001)

Susan Fahncke Susan@2theheart.com

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Susan has written several magazine articles, and has a number of stories that will be published in the coming months. She is currently working on a compilation book of her stories, as well as her first children’s book about kindness. Susan also launched a brand new inspirational web site and email list entitled 2theheart.com