My Angel by Natalee Fox My angel has a heart so precious, and sometimes her hair shines of gold. She is full of love and kindness, she makes my life meaningful and bold. My angel is so smart, always showing me the right way. Without her I'd be lost, I know she'll never lead me astray. My angel is beautiful, she is so special and like no other. I love her, for my angel is my mother. **** this was sent to my by DJ Rach ******* Courtesy of MsTags.com This was written as an Essay by my niece about my moms Passing. I think its awesome and it belongs here. February is an absolutely non-descript month. The sky lacks animation, no flowers have yet bloomed, and no young creatures have yet ventured out in to the world. The cold air still bites into one’s skin like an angry dog, gripping one so hard it takes what seems like an eternity to regain the lost warmth. People are still waiting for life to return to so dreary a place. The February of my freshman year of high school was non-descript. February was lackadaisical and boring, rolling along much slower than I though possible. The days were cookie-cutter perfect and monotonous until a day in the middle of the month. It started out as every day did; get up, go to school, follow my schedule, come home. I remember that it was a cold day and snow was beginning to fall lazily upon my sleepy little town. I was in a rush to get home and off the bus, into the glowing warmth of my home so I could sit by a heat vent and warm my chilled toes. My mother was home; she was off of work for a few days. I walked in the door and knew something was wrong, but I wasn’t sure what it was at first. She sat me down and her face was blank and non-descript. I was unaware, unassuming, and off-guard. When she spoke the words I will never forget, my whole existence shriveled away into the five seconds my mother took to speak. Your grandmother died today. Those four words echoed in my ears for minutes like some sick parody of a tolling church bell. The days remained non-descript. I was a robot, following directions and not thinking for myself. The day of my grandmother’s funeral changed that unthinking monotony. I realized on that day that it was not just I who had lost one of my most anchored pieces of existence. My mother and her two sisters lost someone that was as dear to them as my own mother is to me. The four of us had just lost a source of love, of laughter, and of pure life. I could not let my grandmother’s death defeat me. I was now a pillar of strength to my mother, just as my mother also became even more of one for me. Death opened the doors to my mind, letting me that my grandmother would hate for us to mourn her death. Rather, she would want us to remember the life that she had lived. She would want us to rejoice over the genuine life that she possessed. Not to focus on what we had lost, but what she had given us while she was alive. She gave me, in her death, belief in myself, maturity, love, and the realization that life is what matters. February was not an absolutely non-descript month.