Tree of Wishes

Pray on Angel: A Ramiel Perspective

On the night I was born, in the midst of a dark and raging thunderstorm, my mother thought I was an angel sent as a gift from god. Thus, I was given the name Ramiel, the thunder of god. I wasn't sure how I could be an angel considering I didn't look like one. My tan skin and curly, black ponytail didn't match up with the blond, fair-skinned angels often depicted in art. Regardless, I was cherished by my parents who tried their best to provide a proper upbringing. Even if it meant my mother working two jobs or my father basically living in his office, they did everything they could to pay for my education and ensure my future.

I am grateful for that, especially since it allows me to share my story in an intelligent and articulate manner. People used to complain about my 'accent' as a child, but now they find it to be attractive for some odd reason. Really all I've done is make it so I sound the same regardless of whether I'm speaking English or Spanish. I would seem like two separate people otherwise.

However, I do wish my parents let up a little so we could spend more time as a family. The only time we were really together was on Sundays when we would visit church and pray. My father and I stuck to praying on Sundays, while my mother would do so every morning and night. It was common to see her knees in front of the angel statue she had sitting on its own desk in the living room. Sometimes she would light candles around it, other times she would use incense. She said it didn't matter as long as it encouraged a sense of love and tranquility. Considering how much she contributed to various charities whenever she wasn't working, I could confidently say she was the most loving and peaceful person I knew.

Then it all changed when my father got into a major car accident. He was taken to a hospital as quickly as possible, his life dangling by a thread, and my mother and I were left in the waiting room praying for his recovery. After what felt like an eternity, the doctor emerged from the emergency room, and he informed us that while my father was still alive, the severe injuries he took to the brain and lungs left him in an unstable condition. Since there wasn't much else that could be done, it was decided that they would observe him overnight and see how he was in the morning. We spent that night by his bedside without rest, and I apologized to god for not being so diligent in my faith and swore I would take after my mother if my father came out of this okay.

His heart shut down right as the sun was rising, and despite the doctors and nurses attempting to revive him, nothing else could be done. Since we couldn't pay for a proper funeral, he was cremated and had his ashes kept in a white, porcelain jar.

Our church was very supportive in the face of our loss, with several women from the neighborhood offering to help with donations or baby-sitting services since I was still in middle school. We did appreciate their help through these rough times, but at the same time we didn't want to burden them with our problems. As such, we moved into a smaller apartment and stopped buying candles and incense to save on money. My mother still had her two jobs but worked twice as hard, usually leaving me with meals to heat up in the microwave. I did offer to work as well, but my mother insisted that I should focus on my studies as I always have. She left her family behind to make sure her child would have a bright future, and she wasn't going to let anything get in the way of that.

Things didn't work out as perfectly as she hoped. My grades were good enough to qualify for a high-grade university, yet none of them offered me a scholarship, and other universities that were offering scholarships to people like me rejected my applications. After constant failure over and over again, I settled for a local college that was fairly cheaper and gave me a partial scholarship. I knew I could pay for it with my late father's funds.

It seemed like the wiser decision once my mother's health began to decline. When I took her to the doctor, they diagnosed her with stage three cancer that was slowly making its way into to her brain and lungs. Instead of using my father's funds for college, I put it towards her treatment and took out a loan. I figured I could pay it back once I had a stable job and my mother was better.