Talking to children about death
Talking to children about death the fable of the Angel
Talking to children about death : the fable of the Angel, “every time a good child dies an Angel of God descends on to earth, it takes the dead child in his arms, opens up his great white wings, and flies away to all the places that the child had loved, then picks up a bunch of flowers, which he carries to God so that they may grow even nicer than those on earth; the good God keeps the flowers close to his heart, but he gives a kiss to those He cares the most about, and this is what it means to receive the voice, and it sings with the chorus of the blessed”.
All this was told by an Angel of God, while he was carrying a dead child to the Sky, and the child was feeling like he was in a dream, they were flying around the house, in the places where the child had played, and then in the wonderful delicious full of wonderful flowers.
“Which one should we take, to keep in the sky”? Asks the Angel
In the garden there was another rose garden, but a selfish neighbor had broken the hedge, and so, every branch, full of big buds, had been folded and were in the process of dying.
“Poor plant”, said the child, “take that one, so it will not be able to flower close to God!”
And the Angel cleaned up afterward.
The Angel picked up that plant, gave an embrace to the child, and he opened his eyes a little. They picked up those wonderful flowers, but they also picked the much maligned “calendula” and would not even have the time for it.
“Now we have the flowers!” said the child, and the Angel nodded, but they were not yet flying towards God. It was night, there was silence, they remained in the big city and they flew from one of the narrowest streets, were there was in that moment a lot of hay, ashes to dispose of and trash: there had been a move, there were pieces of plates everywhere, pieces of chalk, knick knacks and old hats, all ruined, all bad things.
And the Angel indicated, in all that confusion, some pieces from a flower vase, nearby there was some soil that had fallen off the flower vase, but it had fallen outside of the vase, and yet it had remained compact, due to roots of a large field flower that had already begun to wilt. It was not worth anything, so it had been thrown away.
”Let’s take it with us!” told me the Angel, “then, while we fly, I will tell you why”
And so it was that they flew away, he said.
“Down there, in that narrow street, in a basement apartment, lived a poor, sick young man, he had been bedridden since he was very young, when he really felt well he could walk around the room with his crutches, but that’s all he could do. In some summer days, the sunrays reached his basement room for about half an hour, and so the young man would sit in the sun, feeling the warmth of the sun, and would look at the red of his blood flowing through his thin fingers, which he held in front of his face, during those days we could say “Today the little one went out!”. He only knew the spring green of the woods because the neighbors’ child would carry him the first branch of beech wood trees with its leaves, and they would raise it over their heads, and he would dream of standing under a beech tree, with the sun shining on them, and the birds singing. One spring day, the neighbors’ kid also brought him some field flowers, and among the flowers there was one with the roots still attached to it: and so he planted it in a vase, and placed it by the window next to his bed. The flower, planted by a loving hand, emerged, sprouted new buds, and every year it gave flowers. This became the wonderful garden of the sick young man, his little treasure on earth. He would water it, take care of it, he worried that they would receive up to the last ray of sun, which penetrated it from the low window, and the flower kept growing, also in the young man’s imagination, because it would blossom for him, it would emanate its perfume for him, and it cheered him up. And when the Lord called the young man, he turned around, on his dying time, toward that flower.
He has been with God for a year now, and for an entire year the flower was left abandoned on the window, and it wilted and died. Because of this, the flower got thrown into the trash during the move. And that flower, that poor wilted flower, was what we took, we put it in our bunch of flowers, because that flower brought more joy than the most beautiful flower of the royal garden.”
“But how do you know all these things?” asked the little kid, that the Angel carried in the sky.
“I know, because it was me, that poor sick young man walking with crutches, it was me!” explained the Angel “And I know my flower very well!”
The young kid was wide eyed, he looked at his handsome face, and happy with the Angel, in that moment they reached the sky, where there was joy and peace. God embraced the deceased child, and immediately a pair of wings appeared, just like with the other Angel, and together they flew away, hand in hand. God held the little bunch of flowers close to his heart, and kissed the poor wilted field flower, which immediately gained a voice, and started to sing with all Angels that were flying all around God, some of them were very close, others in large circles around Him, and some others even further away, in the infinite, but in any case they were all happy. And they all sang, young and old, even the good and blessed child, and the poor little field flower that had been thrown away into the narrow and dark street, among the trash left behind from a move.’
Talking to children about death the fable of the Angel story from Hans Christian Andersen
Talking to children about death the fable of the Angel
Talking to children about death
www.leparoledegliangeli.com/en the words of the Angels