This story is based on a true event concerning a woman receiving end-of-life care at an assisted living facility. I saw with my mind's eye a picture of the woman and an angel having tea. The story came out in a single chunk, written in about thirty minutes.

The angel enjoyed dressing up for tea. Her roommate helped her button up the back of her white, linen dress, and she piled her long, curly, golden hair up on top of her head and held it with pins. She smoothed her long, white skirts and arranged them. Compared to her usual light, rumpled, comfortable clothes, something about the heavy, crisp fabric made her feel prim and special. Before she began having this regular tea, she had never wanted to dress up for anything, but now she could see why some people enjoyed it. The only thing missing was the high, uncomfortable shoes with long heels that buttoned up the side all the way above her knees; she never wore those. The long, flowing skirts covered her feet, so she did not worry too much about that small breach in costume. She left her room, and passed by many people who noticed her with smiles and compliments along the long colonnade of strong white marble along the front of her building, and the open sward that led to the outlying, private bungalow where she was going.

An open, airy sitting room with a window overlooking a wildflower garden had been reserved for tea with her visitor. A warm, bright sunlight flooded the room’s cheerfully light blue walls and removed all traces of shadows. Deep blue wingback chairs with soft velvet upholstery and comfortably worn wooden arms had a table between them. She liked the feel of the deep pile of the dark green carpet on her toes. The room was a perfect place to spend the afternoon. The angel went over and opened the window, letting a fresh breeze waft into the room.

The angel was punctilious by nature, and enjoyed setting out the tea service. She went into the small kitchenette and brought some water to boil, and selected a flavor of tea she hoped would delight her visitor. She carefully arranged some finger foods on a small plate. She did not exactly have to eat, but it was fun to nibble as they talked. The kettle whistled, and she got the tray ready. Two pure white china teacups, on two saucers, with all of the accoutrements necessary for enjoying tea. All the preparation was just in time, for the door to the sunny room opened.

Her visitor had arrived, a human being of indeterminate but advanced years. As the angel had been told, the woman was weary down on earth, and just needed some relaxation and refreshment occasionally. Since the woman did not get around as well as she used to on earth, the general consensus was that she might as well have some relaxation here, and begin the slow transition she was about to make.

“It’s so good to see you, dear.” The woman came over and warmly hugged the angel, and then patted her cheek. That always caused the angel to smile. The woman was much shorter, even in her patent leather pumps, than the barefoot but tall angel, and seemed somewhat frail. Yet she was immaculate in her dark brown wool suit, with a white linen [read: silk] blouse held closed at the throat by a porcelain cameo. Her short white hair was neatly curled. The angel wistfully wondered what being old felt like. Surely, being frail and needing to rest frequently would not be enjoyable, certainly not for someone as active and energetic as the angel, but age bestowed a certain dignity and depth that could be attained in no other way. The angel realized this was something she could never experience for herself.

“You too,” the angel said with a musical smile in her voice. She helped the woman to one of the chairs, and poured her a cup of tea. After that, the angel poured her own, and sat down, carefully arranging her skirts with one hand while holding the tea with another. She paid much attention to her movements, not wanting to spill tea on her beautiful white dress. She took a sip of the beverage, enjoying the warm, spicy flavor.

The woman looked over at her and smiled. “You’re such a nice young lady,” she said. “Well dressed. You should see how most kids dress these days.” The angel hid a smile behind her tea cup, glad the woman wasn’t aware of the angel’s normal habit. The high neck of the dress made her itch, but she supposed that was part of the fun of dressing up.

They conversed about nothing in particular for a few minutes, remarking on the garden and the fine weather of the day. The garden buzzed with life outside of the open window. Bees industriously harvested pollen from the flowers, and two squirrels cavorted rambunctiously on the ground. A goldfinch flew down and tried to perch on a tall flower, causing both the flower and the bird to list alarmingly, the bobbing almost capsizing them both.

“How are you getting along?” the angel asked, after the woman had sampled the tea and found it to her liking.

The woman slowly added a dab of honey to her tea, using a tiny silver spoon that made a musical noise when it touched the china. She stirred the honey into the tea. Then, she said, “Somehow, it seems wrong to burden you with my problems, here. Everything is so peaceful.” She looked down into the cup in her hands, not drinking.

“I want to listen,” the angel said softly. “It’s no burden.”

“That place, you know, where I am, I suppose they do the best they can, but I don’t think they take care of me very well. Everyone rushes around all the time, but no one ever does anything. Hard to understand. I miss my old house. The place just isn’t the same. I don’t have any of my old, familiar things, and don’t have anything to do.” The woman stared out into the garden, watching a butterfly sample draughts of nectar from a variety of flowers. Her voice was low, but her face was not tense as she viewed that scene. In fact, here in this room, the weathered lines on her face relaxed and she looked much younger.

The angel injected a cheerful note into her voice. “At least you can come here.” She waved her free hand, careful not to slosh the tea, indicating the room and the garden.

The woman did not return the cheerful tone, and in fact darkened. “Yes. That’s true. It’s such a relief to come here and talk to you. But, I must be doing worse than I realized. Do you remember my son?”

“Yes,” the angel said with a certain forced cheerfulness. He was her son, and that counted for something. At the same time, a chill went up the angel’s back when she remembered the last visit by the woman, and her description of her little, growing boy that caused her to gush with pride, only to reduce her to sadness a few minutes later when she talked about the grown man. This angel had never been the kind to be drawn to flaming swords, but on that occasion she wished she had one to grip in her hands. She tried to focus on the little boy taking his first steps, not the grown man taking his last.

“I had not seen him in many years, like I told you.” A pause, for a long drink of tea. “Do you know what power of attorney is, young lady?”

“That means someone else can manage your affairs,” the angel said, remembering the information they had given her before she began these visits. Not something she had ever had any direct experience with, true, but she understood the concept intellectually.

“I let my son have it, before he put me in the place. Now, he is trying to use that power and say I am incompetent to manage my own affairs. He thinks I am too addled to manage my money.” The deep frown caused the age to show on the woman’s face.

The angel selected the words in her reply carefully, because she did not want to say something bad about the woman’s son to her face. “He is not using the power as he was meant to.” She wanted to say something much different, but firmly bit down on her tongue with her teeth to prevent anything further from coming out.

The woman looked around the room. “When I’m here, everything is much clearer. I don’t think I’m that addled. Not so that I can’t write a check, or do sums. I even watch that new television channel that talks about finances all the time, and it’s so funny how these young people think they invented investments in their generation. I survived the Great Depression, you know. We knew how to manage our money back then. But no one listens to me.” She looked directly at the angel, and asked: “Am I that addled? Tell me the truth, now, young lady. Don’t spare an old woman’s feelings.”

The angel felt a moisture in her eyes. She told the truth. “No. You are not that addled.” The angel almost would rather that have been a lie to cheer the woman up, but it wasn’t. The truth. Normally, an angel like her would never be told the intimate details of another human’s life besides the one she ministered to, but in this case they had told her, to get her ready for these visits, the outline of how the son’s life had intersected with this woman’s during her last, fading years. The angel knew, factually, that the woman was not into her dotage, and not suffering from dementia. Her only real change, mentally, was that she was more cautious and thoughtful in almost everything, and the angel could not see that as bad.

“I’m not?” The woman seemed surprised that the angel would confirm her suspicions that she was not as addled as they made her out to be. “Why does he treat me this way?”

The angel had practiced and practiced not wearing every emotion on her sleeve, something she had always done, just to get ready for these visits. They’d told her that there would be a few times when she would have to maintain composure for the sake of her visitor. This was one of those times. She was not going to start crying. “Your son has much different priorities now, than he used to when you raised him.” The angel thought it funny that she, of all people, would be explaining human behavior to a human. What did an angel know of sons who moved off to big cities and began to live a life concerned with spending and acquiring? How could she possibly tell this woman that her son had not thought about his mother in thirty years other than as a dollar amount he could get his hands on? “He sees things differently now.” Once a little boy, sitting beside his mother on the pew. Now a man, concerned with his stock broker and the contractor enlarging his house.

“I don’t understand.” The woman stared into the distance, looking lost and confused. Not about money. “Why would he do that to me? I’m his mother. I love him. I would have given him all the money he wanted. I just wanted to see him more often.”

“It’s about time to go,” the angel said gently, dabbing at the corner of her mouth with a napkin. She knew her mouth wasn’t dirty, but wanted something to do. There was nothing more to be said. Each visit for tea seemed to be more painful than the last. Events had to run their course, and all the angel could do was to be a friend and listen, giving the woman the personal attention that no one on earth would spare the time to give. The angel knew one thing she could not tell the woman, that there would be two more of these visits. She wondered if she would make it through two more visits.

“Already? Doesn’t seem like we’ve been here very long.” Nevertheless, the woman placed her tea cup and saucer down onto the tray, and stood up.

The angel, too, stood. “You’ll be able to stay, soon.” After two more visits.

“Longer, next time?” A hopeful look came over the woman’s face. She smiled up at the angel, who had moved beside her, with wet eyes.

The angel whispered: “Forever.” She took the elbow of the woman and led her towards the door.

The woman patted her arm affectionately. “That’s nice, dear. I rather like it here.” One last hug, a promise to come back again, and the woman went off through the door, back to the place, back to everything from which she had just experienced a respite.

The angel stood and looked at the closed door for a moment. She still had a napkin in her hand, and she pressed it to her eyes as she went back through the room and cleaned up after them. She couldn’t figure out what had made her cry, whether it was the pathos of woman’s current situation, or the happy thought that it would all be over soon.