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twinkle in his eyes was still there. We talked for hours, reminiscing like two old ladies. But then, right before he dropped his head, his smile disappeared.

"There is no cure for my cancer, you should know that."
I sat gnawing on my lip with a mouth full of blood, and a throat full of tears. My knees bounced violently as I listened, unable to speak at all. When our visit ended, Mr. Bradley walked me out like he always used to, but this time he didn't say goodbye. Ironically, that would be his last chance. He died the following week.

Even at his funeral, I was too devastated to cry. I sat in shock, trying to make sense of the absurd possibilities. He'd never been sick a day in his life!

That night, as I leafed through the flimsy pages of my twelfth-grade year book, his picture leaped out at me like a deer crossing a country road. As I read the words he scribbled on my last day of school, I discovered that even the most tragic stories can have a Fairy Tale ending.

Many things happen that we must only be thankful for, never ask why or challenge its purpose.'

In that very instant, it all made sense. Mr. Bradley wasn't just a cop, or a teacher. He was the answer to my prayers. God sent him to me when I needed him most, and welcomed him back home when his work was done.

My little boy saw me reminiscing the other day, and his questions were endless. I didn't mind sharing the story, but when he asked me why my favorite teacher died, my eyes filled with tears. I pulled him up on my knee and smiled as I contemplated an answer that would satisfy a 7-year-old. And as the truth made it's way from my heart to my lips, an amazing calm fell over me.

"Well you see, Bradley, Angels belong in Heaven."

Learn more about this author, Holly Haverstick.
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