[Creative Nonfiction] Angels

Read the second-place entry for our week of January 19, 2025 prompt, Signs & Symbols

Angels
by Caraline Shaheen

My Aunt Mary and Uncle Jack lived in a tiny house in Maine, just a short walk from the Atlantic. Their home was the setting for every Catholic holiday. Uncle Jack always dressed as Santa, even though it terrified some children (me). After Mary’s extensive feast and Jack’s distribution of knick-knacks, we were forced to attend church although the two of them were never in attendance. They never spoke of Jesus, unless in vain—Uncle Jack especially. More than that, he didn’t seem to know how to love. He’d often throw me into the pool in their backyard with my clothes on and hit me in the leg with his hot coffee spoon for a laugh. He wasn’t kind or warm but he and Aunt Mary had a thing for angels. Multi-sized angel figurines and cherubs sat atop every surface in their beachside home.

“They’re watchin’ over you, honey, and don’t you forget it,” Aunt Mary would say, as Uncle Jack never said anything “They sleep with the stars.”

My ninth birthday fell on Easter Sunday and began with a large family breakfast at Uncle Jack's and Aunt Mary’s house. After our second and third helpings, Uncle Jack said he had a special gift for me while slouched back in his beige recliner. Aunt Mary appeared in the doorway, carrying a bright pink bag, stuffed with blue tissue. I was shocked at the sight of it. My aunt and uncle had never given me a gift before and I didn’t dare expect anything other than a warm meal and a smack on the bum. From beneath the tissue paper sat a glittery, pink snow globe with a miniature angel posing inside. My eyes glowed at the sight of it.

“He doesn’t want you to know this, but your Uncle Jack picked this out just for ya,” Aunt Mary said. I was shocked at his intentional generosity. It was odd picturing him in his wheelchair getting pushed into the backseat of someone’s car, his oxygen rolling behind him, and driving to Marshalls or Hallmark just with me in mind.

They both died of lung cancer a few years apart. After they were gone, I sat on my bedroom floor, holding the object in my lap, and spoke to Aunt Mary and Uncle Jack as if they were sitting in the room with me. I remember crying because I felt like I should cry. I cried thinking of the Uncle I could have loved. I was lost in the guilt of not loving the Uncle I did have. Yet, being spiteful no longer mattered. Why not love him now? It eases the memories as they come, like a ripple in the Atlantic.

I’d like to think that Uncle Jack is looking down on me from somewhere up above. Maybe his life just wasn’t for him. Maybe he’s getting another shot, somewhere. Wherever Uncle Jack may be, I like him more as an angel than as an uncle.

A Note From Our Guest Judges,

Lindsey Trout Hughes

&

Matt Trinetti

This piece beautifully captures the complexity of family, memory, and forgiveness. With a sharp yet tender eye, it examines the contradictions of family. The writing is honest and unsentimental, yet the final turn brings a quiet, unexpected grace. We loved its raw emotion, its restraint, and the way it allows grief and understanding to coexist.

About Caraline Shaheen

Caraline Shaheen is a writer based in Boston, Massachusetts. Examples of her work can be viewed through her blog, The Caraline Edit.

This piece was written in response to the prompt Signs & Symbols.