It was nothing more than a glimmer, a simple glimmer of hope that triggered my encounter with an angel at the Manor.

I peeped around the corner of Mother’s room. She seemed to be asleep, stretched out on the bed, blanket across her feet. She wore her favourite blue plaid blouse and knit pants. The faint scent of perfume lingered. Reluctant to wake her, I tiptoed a few steps forward and peered over the bed. She saw me immediately.

“Oh, Joy,” she cried, “how did you find me? Get me out of here!” Her hands trembled, her voice quivered. She came to life in tears. “Look here.” She lifted the edge of her blanket. “They’ve got me strapped into this bed. I can’t even move. Please,” she sobbed, “get me out of here. I’m a prisoner.”

I felt a knot in my stomach, a lump in my throat.

“It’s all right.” I sat on the edge of her bed. “You’re not strapped in. You’re okay. This is a hospital.”

She whimpered then gritted her teeth. “What do you know? You think you know everything, don’t you?” Her voice got louder. “What kind of daughter are you that you’d abandon your own mother in a place like this?” She was yelling now. “You’re sorry, you hear me? Sorry as the scum of the earth!”

I thought I had become accustomed to the sting of her words, but I was wrong. She can’t help it, I told myself. It’s just her way. She doesn’t really mean it. Still, I fought to hold back the tears welling in my eyes.

Then a young CNA came bouncing by and stuck her head in the door. When she saw the expression on my face, she came in and stood by my mother’s bed. “Mrs. Frawley,” she said in a sweet Southern drawl, “is something wrong? Can I help you with anything?”

“Oh, Laura,” my mother said, “I’m so glad you came!” The sobs vanished. A broad grin spread across her face. She pointed a finger at me.

“This is my daughter.”

The CNA’s name tag read, “Brittany.”

“Mrs. Frawley, is something wrong? Can I get anything for you?” As she talked, she stroked my mother’s hand.

“No, Laura, I’m fine. Just visiting.”

The young woman bent down and hugged my mother. “You sure do smell good.”

My mother giggled. “You’re so beautiful,” she said.

Brittany straightened the covers, plumped the pillows, and positioned the tray so that Mother could reach it. As she worked, she glanced over at me. “Do you know who Laura is?” she asked quietly.

Suddenly, I remembered. “Laura was one of the nurses who cared for my mom at UAB hospital. Mother loved her so much.”

Brittany smiled. “Oh, how sweet. She thinks I’m Laura.”

“Sister!” my mother yelled, “can I go home with you tonight?”

I leaned close to her. “As soon as you’re stronger.” I touched her arm. “Mother, can you hear me? I said you could go home as soon as you’re better.”

But she wasn’t paying attention to me. She was smiling up at Laura.

“Okay,” she said then cut her eyes in my direction. “You’re not gonna snitch, are you? We sneaked out of here a little while ago and walked out on the front porch. We sat in one of those big white rocking chairs, didn’t we, Laura. Had the best time.”

Brittany shrugged then grinned.

I smiled at her. By whatever name, she was sweet, kind, and loving, and in her face, my mother saw not the face of a nurse, but the face of an angel. Her very own guardian angel. We’d both been touched by Grace, my mother and I.