by Marshall Parks

Created on: July 04, 2008

Angels really exist! All one has to do is look for the signs. It is my personal belief that Angels are our loved ones who have passed over into the other realm and they are there for us at all times. My proof does not come from the Holy Bible, but personal experience. I hope you will indulge me while I tell you my story. I'll try to keep it short.

I was not the quintessential "good son" to my mother. In fact, I was a rebel and a criminal. She tried to raise me with the Lord in my life, but I feel she eventually threw her hands up and left it to God.

When I turned 21, my mother passed away. The last words we spoke were of loving one another, but I truly doubted my mother loved me when she left and the guilt ate me like the cancer that took her. I chose to ignore the guilt and my life continued as it always had. I was married, but I didn't respect the marriage, or the fact that we shared a child. This lasted for years, until finally I hit rock bottom. We were evicted from our house thirteen days before Christmas. It was truly degradation at it's finest as I sat on the curb, guarding our possessions from the vulture-like people, slowing to look to gain something free. It was the final straw for my wife. She chose Christmas Eve to tell me it was over.

I went back to my hometown, homeless and defeated. My father took me in over the objections of my step-mother, but I was soon to be kicked out for drinking. It was the only way to forget. They were going to Yellowstone and my step-mother "wanted a house to come back to." So again I was homeless.

I was forced to reflect on my life. I knew where I went wrong and the first thing I resigned myself to, was to atone for all I put my mother through. I was sure that she was looking down and I wanted to be the son that she always wanted to be proud of. I worked hard and I did succeed. For her.

After I "became whole" within myself, I met a woman. I can't honestly say I was in love with her. It was mostly cold comfort. I had been single too long and I missed the companionship of another person. We lived together long enough to have a child. I promptly named her in honor of my mother. My mother's name was Janet Lee. She would sometimes complain of the masculine spelling of her middle name. Knowing this, I named my little one, Janet Leigh. Her mother left me before the baby was even walking. She was having an affair with my closest friend from work.

It was mentally devastating. I had taken this to be my second chance to atone for my

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