russian sage

It's been a rough week.  And once again, when I have an extra sad Paige week, one or more of my family members is also. And so here I am, checking to see if this week is an anniversary of anything extra hard; bad prognosis, turn for the worse.  That sort of thing.  It hurt hurts.  Quite badly, actually.

I just read over a bunch of posts from September of 2007, two months before Paige died.  How I had the presence of mind to write coherently is beyond me. It's hard to tell if it's a specific anniversary.  I guess I'm sad just because. 

A few weeks ago I dreamed of her again, which I do about every month or two.  This time we were in the "middle room" of my childhood house, and Paige was there.  I got to hold her, and she told me she loved me.  And then something in the room - invisible to me - caught her attention, and her face keep looking left, then right, as though there were a stream of people passing.   I think she said, "Guys!" And in the dream I figured out that they were male angels.  And quite a few, too; probably fifteen of them.  They had arrived to take Paige back to heaven.  It was a nice visit, though.