BRENT STOLLER

Writer. Advice giver. Peanut butter and chocolate enthusiast.

The Spirits in the Sky

Burnt orange sky at sunset

Do you believe in angels?

I do.

Well, I think I do.

Or, at the very least, I want to.

But maybe the better question would be, why wouldn’t you want to?

Why wouldn’t you want to believe your loved ones are out there, still watching over you, still within earshot when you need to talk?

Ultimately, it’s a personal decision, though.

And because, as far as I can tell, there can’t be concrete proof of angels, one’s belief in them must be rooted less in logic and more in feelings.

Today, I felt an angel.

During my morning meditation, my brain was bouncing all over the place, as it frequently does.

Meditation is supposed to quiet the mind, but oftentimes that calming process begins with a purging of the random thoughts that have been weighing you down.

At some point, amid worries of what I was going to write about here and who the Texas Longhorns would start at right tackle for the upcoming season, I began thinking about my grandfather, Lou.

Lou, or Pop, as the grandkids called him, was the grandparent I had the longest, and the one I knew the best.

When I was a kid, he was the person who would show up at our house each week to make me smile.

Throughout my high school and college years, he was there to help mold me into a man, teaching me about hard work, and having compassion, and how to drive a stick shift.

By the time I reached adulthood, he was the wise sage who shared with me his wisdom, the lessons he’d learned from flying fighter jets in World War II and growing up as the only Jew in a small Texas town.

We would laugh. We’d tease each other. And we’d make memories together.

He passed away in April 2015 at the age of 91. And I’ve missed him every day since.

While I think about him often — especially in regard to Texas Longhorns football, which he taught me to love as much as he did — today’s experience seemed different, even if only by a little.

It felt more tangible, more real.

Not only could I see his face and hear his voice, I could sense his presence.

Well, I think I could.

Or, at the very least, I just wanted to.

And maybe that’s all that matters.

*****

This originally appeared on 100 Naked Words.

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