Authors: Lorna Byrne
I have been down Moore Street many times since, both as a
child and as an adult, but it has never again come alive to that
extent. I know that just because I don't see something, it
doesn't mean it's not happening. The angels know they cannot
allow me to see everything that is going on all the time; if they
did it would be too much for me and it would make it
impossible for me to live my daily life – I would be too
distracted.
The angels taught me a lot about the idea of choice, too, and
one afternoon they helped me to understand that it is never too
late for us to change our minds and make the right choice, and
also how much angels can help us to make the right choice –
if we choose to listen.
I enjoyed doing messages for Mum as I could be alone and
free to talk to the angels. I enjoyed skipping with them and
watching the birds and trees. On this particular afternoon, I
was about halfway to the shops when the angels told me, 'Stop,
Lorna! We want you to have a look at something that is going
on in another street, so we can explain some things to you.
When you get to the main street, instead of going left for the
shops and crossing the road, we want you to go right and just
keep walking straight on.'
So that was exactly what I did, and when I got there I saw
loads of furniture out on the footpath and a police car and
people gathered around. There was an old man coming out of
his hall door and walking with the help of a walking stick, and
all his furniture and belongings were there on the street. I was
very shocked; that sight has stayed with me all my life.
'Angels,' I said, 'what is happening to this poor man?'
I stood there on the footpath, looking across the street at all
this happening. Then the angels started to talk.
'Lorna, the old man has lived in that house all his life. It's his
house, but as he got older he became stubborn and refused to
pay his taxes. He had a choice: he could have paid – he has the
money – and none of this would have happened. If he was still
talking to his family they might have helped him to make the
right choice, but because of his stubbornness he is not
speaking to them. He is on his own, for now.'
I asked the angels who the woman was who was trying to
talk to him: if it was his daughter, and he might listen to her or
not. They replied, 'Lorna, can't you see his angels whispering
in his ear. He does hear them, you know! See, he is crying now.
He is letting his daughter take his arm. Now he is starting to
make the right choices. It is never too late to make the right
choice, if we are prepared to listen.'
'I understand,' I said, 'will you angels always help me to
make the right choices?'
'Yes, Lorna, we will,' they replied.
Sometimes, things only seem like tragedies. That's the way it
was with Da's accident.
He was working for a big petrol company, delivering
paraffin, and there was an accident. This led to an offer of
compensation by the company, but Da said he didn't want
money, he wanted a permanent job. Eventually, the company
offered him a contract as manager of a petrol station in the
centre of Dublin. Da was presented with a choice, and
undoubtedly the angels helped him to choose the right thing.
This permanent job gave my parents some financial stability
and, finally, they were able to afford a deposit on a home of
their own.
My father's accident was a blessing in disguise. Sometimes
tough things have to happen in order for people to change, and
for things to change in their lives. Miracles happen all the time.
People just fail to notice them.
I had learning difficulties which no one understood fully so my
parents decided I shouldn't go back to school when we moved
to the new house in Leixlip, despite the fact that I was only
fourteen. I was hurt that they didn't consult me about this;
being taken out of school was another example of being treated
differently by my parents. They may not have sent me away, as
had once been suggested to them, but they did treat me
differently.
I saw things getting easier financially, but none of this
seemed to make a difference in relation to me. We now had a
telephone. My brothers and sisters used the phone all the time
and nothing was ever said to them, but when I asked to use it
I would be told how much it cost and wouldn't be allowed.
When I wanted to have a bath, I'd be told 'No' or 'Only a little
one'. This happened so often that I was afraid to ask if I could
have a bath, so I used to just fill the basin with water to wash
myself so that I wouldn't have to ask only to be refused. I never
really understood; I still don't now, but I was treated very
differently, as if I was worth less than the others.
I helped Mum around the house and garden, watching as my
brothers and sisters went off to their new schools. One
evening, while I was sitting at the table having dinner with my
Mum and brothers and sisters, Mum announced that she
wanted me to go with her to a funeral the following day. A
relative had died and she didn't want to go on her own. My
brothers and sisters were very interested in who the relative
was; my brother, Dillon, wanted to know her name.Mum said,
'Theresa,' and she showed us a photo.
'We'll have to get an early bus,' Mum said, 'as we have to
travel to the far side of the city and at the other end we
have to walk to the church, which will take us about ten
minutes.'
The next day was very cold. As soon as my brothers and
sisters had gone to school, Mum told me to dress up warmly
and I put on my coat, hat, scarf and gloves. Mum took a brolly
as well, just in case it rained.We headed down to the bus stop.
On the bus I sat looking out the window, thoughts going
through my mind, wondering what a funeral would be like.
This was a first for me.
A while later, Mum turned to me and said, 'We are nearly
there. Now remember, Lorna, you are to stand beside me all
the time and not wander off. You could get lost.'
The bus came to a stop and we got off. There was a good
walk to the church, which was crowded. Everyone was so sad.
The priest said the Mass and I watched everything with my
eyes open wide.
After the service, we went to the graveyard, which was quite
close to the church – just a short walk away. There, in the
graveyard, I was amazed to see how many angels were standing
crowded among my relatives – most of whom were strangers
to me. I saw a large crowd of people there and I moved a little
away from the crowd to have a better look. Mum was busy
talking and did not notice. There was an angel standing at a
bush beside a grave; a beautiful angel dressed in a human way,
but she was a vibrant, sky blue. I asked her, 'Why are all the
angels here?'
I'd often seen angels in graveyards before, but there were so
many here. She smiled at me and said,
'Lorna, we know you still have lots to learn: this is one place
where angels are called on, one place where people are in pain
and grief and are crying out, "Oh God, help me! I can't cope
with this alone", so this is a place we gather.'
This beautiful blue angel took me by the hand and guided
me through the large crowd at the funeral.We weaved our way
through the throng; it was as if the crowd parted to let us pass
and, although people must have noticed me moving, no one
tried to stop me.We kept walking until we were at the very far
side of the mourners who were gathered around the grave.
There at the edge of the group, by a headstone, was the spirit
of Theresa, my relative who was being buried that day – I
recognised her from the photo that Mum had shown us the
night before. Theresa was surrounded by some ten angels,
maybe more; she was so beautiful, much more so than in her
photograph; like a beautiful daffodil, just glowing, with the
light shining out of her. This beautiful spirit was being allowed
to watch her own funeral. As I joined her, she turned around
and asked the angels who were with her to send angels to all of
her grieving relatives. (The spirit of someone who has just
passed over can ask for the angels to console and help those
who are left behind.)
As Theresa asked this, angels instantly flew to the side of
everyone who was there in the graveyard – friends and
acquaintances as well as relatives. In many cases it wasn't just
one angel who went to a person, but a group of them. The
angels were so gentle and kind; putting their hands on people's
shoulders, whispering in their ears, rubbing them gently on the
head. In one case I watched the angels embrace a person as if
with human arms – I was told that this person had lost someone
at another time and was secretly grieving for that loss, too.
I will always remember the beauty of what that blue angel
showed me. She radiated such compassion and understanding;
I have to laugh when I think how absurd it is that someone has
to die in order for us to ask angels for help. We need not wait
until we are desperate and in great pain to ask for this
assistance: we should be asking every day, or every month, or
once a year: 'I want my angels with me through everything I
do'. This simple request will empower the angels to help us.
Ever since that day, whenever I am going past a graveyard, I
glance in. I always see angels there. If there is a funeral going
on it will be full of angels but even if there is just a single
person there, they will be surrounded by angels giving them
the comfort that they require.
Some months after we moved into the new house, Da came
home from work with good news for me. It was autumn and
still bright outside: it was probably around seven o'clock, or
maybe later, because Da worked long hours. He followed his
normal routine of going into the big, long sitting room, settling
onto the couch and turning on the TV to watch the news, and
just relaxing after his long day. Sometimes I would watch him;
I never told him I could see his angel there with him, or the
energy field around him. At times I would see his energy take
a sigh and droop down – that's the only way I can explain it.
As he sat there, Mum would bring in his dinner from the
kitchen and put it on to a small wooden table so he could eat
and watch the TV at the same time. This evening, though, he
asked me, 'Would you like to come and work with me in the
petrol station? You can see how you like it – it would be a start
for you.'
I was so delighted I could have kissed my Da, but, as always,
I held back. Da was a very good man and accepted me in a lot
of ways; I always felt he
knew
something, but he couldn't quite
put his finger on it. But the angels had been telling me since I
was a young child there was a very real possibility that I would
be locked up: I was continually warned by them that if I gave
either of my parents any cause, I would be sent to a mental
institution. Because of this, I was never over-emotional with
Da, and I was very careful about how I behaved around him.
A few days later, I started work. On that first day I had
breakfast, said goodbye to Mum, and went off with Da in the
car to the garage – The Grosvenor, as it was called. It was in
Rathmines, a suburb of Dublin. It was in a very good location
for a garage: on a corner in the middle of a busy junction, with
main roads to the right and left of it. The garage was a big old
house, with a large forecourt and four petrol pumps, a diesel
pump, an air hose and a water tap. It was smelly and damp,
literally falling down – a reminder of our house in old
Kilmainham. Part of it was used for offices, part for selling
things like tyres, puncture repair kits, batteries and other basic
essentials for cars, and there was also a big room for puncture
repairs.
I was very excited on my first day, but also very nervous: I
was scared that I might let Da down by doing something stupid
or silly. I didn't want to disappoint him. But I needn't have
worried, everyone was very nice and helpful, and the angels, of
course, also helped. I learnt how to do all kinds of different
jobs: to serve petrol, sell things and I also started to learn some
of the office work. There were nine or ten people working
there – all men except for a lovely lady called Anne, who took
me under her wing from that first day. I got on very well with
her and she taught me an awful lot.
My first day at work was great, and I went home with Da at
the end of it quite happy with myself. I did wonder that day,
and at other times, how it was that Da didn't notice that I had
no problem serving petrol or giving back the right change, and
yet he continued to think I was retarded.
Shortly after I started work, it was decided to demolish the
old garage and build a new one. Early one Saturday or Sunday
morning, I sat in the car with Da and watched with fascination
as they hit the old building with a big demolition ball until it
tumbled down. Eventually, a wonderful new modern garage
was built; there was a new shop, new petrol pumps and a very
bright and nice new office with big windows which I could
look out of. From the office you could see into the shops and
out onto the forecourt with the petrol pumps.
As always, the angels showed me lots of things. One day,
they told me to watch a regular customer, a man called John,
whom I knew well. 'Watch him; he's going to steal from your
Da.'
Da considered John a very wealthy man and an important
customer, so I was shocked when the angels said this. I said,
'Go away, he's not going to steal!'
'He is,' they insisted, 'you can watch – he won't see you.'
I still didn't believe them; I watched John talk to Da and I
heard him complimenting him on the new shop and all the
different things he was selling. Da invited him to have a good
look around, then went off to do something else. I was in the
shop alone with John, but the angels told me he couldn't see
me. I said, 'Listen, angels, of course he can see me, I'm flesh
and blood.'
But they laughed at me and said, 'No, he can't see you!'
Sometimes the angels tell me something but I don't understand
it fully. They told me this man couldn't see me, but
suddenly I understood: he couldn't see me because they had
made me invisible to his eyes.
I watched as John walked around and looked at everything,
including the new music cassette tapes that Da had got in
(cassettes were expensive then). He picked up a cassette and
put it in his pocket. I couldn't believe it.
'Why?' I asked the angels.
'It's something he does all the time,' they replied. 'He steals;
stealing makes him feel as if he's got one up on someone else.'
The angels explained that, when John saw someone being
successful or doing well, it made him envious and his response
was to take something from them that he thought was of value.
'Should I tell my Da?' I asked the angels.
Do you know what they replied? It might be hard to believe,
but they told me, 'No! Some day this man's conscience will get
at him for all the things that he has stolen in the past; but this
is not the moment. This is not the right time. Just leave it.'
I felt very sad; John had been coming into the garage for
years. After that, whenever he came into the shop, I would
follow him around, pretending to be cleaning.
One day, I was in the office sitting at the desk with Anne and
double-checking the figures in the ledger. Anne was a great
secretary and she taught me a lot; sometimes I was amazed
with myself that I found it so easy. That particular day we did
a lot of work together. The shop door opened and a man
walked in; I got up from the desk and went out to serve him.
While I was serving him, I noticed a quietness about him and
a stillness in the air; I noticed, too, that he didn't talk much
either. I gave him what he was looking for, said goodbye to
him and he left the shop.
As I walked into the office and back up to the desk, there
was not a sound to be heard; Anne did not move. I stood
behind her to the left, looking out the window and an angel
put its hand on my shoulder. The forecourt looked empty:
there was just one parked car beside one of the petrol pumps.
I looked down the street as far as I could see. I could not see
around the corner, but then, all of a sudden, I was allowed to
see: I saw young boys on bicycles cycling up the road towards
the garage.
These boys were happy, laughing and joking with each
other, reaching out and touching each other, having a good
time. I could hear them talking to each other, but could not
hear clearly what they were saying. I stayed focused on
them. A car passed them; as if in slow motion, everything
else was completely still; it was as if I was right there with
the boys on a bicycle myself. Then I saw an articulated truck,
coming up the road behind the boys. I held my breath. In
that moment I knew what was going to happen next. The car
was gone now and the truck and the boys were the only
things moving.
The boys continued to enjoy their cycle, racing each other
up the road, reaching out to each other and laughing. Everything
was in slow motion again: the articulated truck passed
and, as it did, both the boys and the truck became luminous.
They passed through each other like ghosts. The truck went
around the corner and on up the road, the driver completely
unaware of what had happened. There was no loss of continuity;
everything flowed on. The boys were oblivious to what
had just happened; it was as if they had never fallen. They had
never noticed; they just carried on following the truck,
enjoying their cycle. Then, as the truck drove on, an enormous
circle of light appeared – it was as if it came from the back of
the truck itself.