I once met an angel. In Saks.

My dad died on Halloween.
13 years ago, but, still.

That first year was especially hard - as you can imagine.
Except it was worse because I was pregnant with Youngest.
I hate being pregnant when someone dies. But somehow it worked out that way.

My mom flew in from Oklahoma, where they had been living, and we all tried to live our lives.
But it was so sudden that it was especially hard.
And the holidays crashed down on us all.

In an attempt to salvage traditions and Christmas and whatever joy we could muster, my mom made arrangements for our usual holiday activities to continue.
One of them was going to see P.D.Q. Bach at Carnegie Hall.
Peter Schickele did a concert in New York city at christmas time each year and she got tickets for us to see him - as did my father when he was alive.
Box seats, in fact.

She kindly decided we should make a day of it -
Lunch at Rockefeller Plaza, watching the skaters, browsing Fifth Avenue and admiring the windows.
We all went through the motions - and it was a nice day.

But I felt so awful.
Pregnant and uncomfortable.
Constantly scanning the faces of my extended family for grieving.
Worrying about my mother.
I couldn't enjoy myself.

At one point in the afternoon, in Saks, I had to pee.
It was so symbolic of the burden of that pregnancy at that time.
I didn't want to be pregnant any more.
The happiness of it had been squeezed out of me.
It had become an afterthought.

My mom went with me to the very crowded ladies room.
I needed a moment to sit down. Catch my breath. Try not to think too much.
Mom was using the facilities while I sat.

A woman approached me.
I don't remember what she looked like - but I do remember that she had on a coat and hat. She looked like any other shopper.
She waded through the other women in the lounge area.
She reached out and touched my arm.
She said: You know it is all going to be okay, don't you?

And, right then, for the first time in weeks, I let myself believe it.