Stepping away from all the ugliness I let my blog fill in with and sincerely apologizing to You who read and to the Person I may have hurt, I want to tell the second part of the Angel Story.

The first one was about my special Angel – Granny: the Love, the Grace, the Beauty. The story about when I was seven. About when I’d learned how angels dance.

My Granny moved with us when my Granddad died. One day she just appeared at our door: little, lean lady with wrinkled hands and face and a hoarse voice. She taught at the ballet school. I was to share my room with her. I loved the idea. I adored her. We were spending all our days together, at the ballet school in the morning, then in the coffee shops in the afternoon and sunsets by the sea.

She was kind.

I liked to sit with her on the shore and listen to her stories; about thieves stealing her strawberries, my grand grandmother’s success in Paris, the granddad’s  exceptional mustache and the special one about the Crab living in her stomach. (Crab and Cancer in Lithuanian is the same word)

“Is It big?” I used to ask and she was showing me her fist, “Like this!”

“What does It do?” I asked then.

“It eats my food.” she answered.

“That’s why you eat so little,” I was always concluding. “You don’t want to get It some.”

And she laughed.

But I didn’t.

I imagined the strange creature with two claws, moving backwards and grabbing Granny’s bread.

Bad Crab!

I remember once at the dinner table, when the old lady had barely touched her food, I said something about Crab starving to death, I’ve heard my father’s fork falling on the floor; saw his mean look that he used to give me, when I had done something wrong. That evening he wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at my Granny.

Since then the Crab story was forever forgotten.

But I knew the Crab existed.

I saw my granny getting weaker, older and smaller.

She quit the ballet school.

She walked, talked and laughed less.

She stopped dancing. Forever.

She faked her strength when I was around and I could do nothing but pretend back: the carelessness, joy and bravery.

One night I woke up from the thunder.

Rumbling sound frightened.

I sneaked into my Granny’s bed which was just right next to mine, put my little arms around her slim body and heard her saying, “It’s OK, sweetie. It’s just Angels dancing.”

Angels danced all night long.

Outside.

In my dreams.

And they forgot to guard.

They overlooked the calamity that passed through my house.

In the morning Granny’s wrinkled hands were cold.

I couldn’t wake her up.

No one could.

She died the night that Angels danced.

To join the troupes of Heaven.

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