IN THE ARMS OF THE ANGEL

There were 56 of them.

That we know of.

Their average age was 51. But they were as young as 21, and as old as 70. And the age of four of them was unknown.

Their names were common. Mary, and Robert and Norman, and Stacy and Henry and James. And unique like Adalberto, and Akimoto and Camerino and Diogenes.... and John Doe.

All of them died in the past year. From the the winter solstice in 2009, to the night of the winter solstice in 2010.

A winter solstice, that, this year, was heralded by one of the most magnificent lunar eclipses ever seen by the people of the entire planet.

And on that night, in this week before another magnificent event, the annual recognition of the birth of the Christ, these 56 people were remembered, in song, and word and the soft light of 56 candles. by friends, relatives, and clergy and strangers who gathered in a serene and beautifully decorated park to give dignity and remembrance to their lives.

For most of them, that event, in the celestial wake of that awesome lunar eclipse, would be the only recognition of their place and time on the planet.

One by one, the names were called out by a procession of those friends and relatives and strangers.

And one by one, the candles were lit.

A small flare of glory in that moment of light. And a name put to a face unknown to most of the people who attended. And a few names achingly familiar to somebody who will remember them the longest, and spoken softly and haltingly by somebody who did know and love them.

They died in so many ways. None of them went "gently, into that good night."

They were hit by cars. Or trains. Or somehow, perished in the waterways in and around a great city. They died of exposure. And beatings. And unaddressed, or untreated illnesses brought on due to the ravages inflicted by the physical and emotional stress of having spent a long time living on the street. And some of them were suicides probably brought on by a broken heart.

And for that one night, in that holy place, they were united in the minds and the memories and the hearts of the people who sang the songs, and heard the kind words, and who lit the candles and spoke the names, and shared some measure of the pain the people they were remembering , had suffered in their lives.

And next year, once again, at the winter solstice, in that same park, which for that night will again be a holy place, there will be more friends and relatives and strangers and clergy. and more candles, and songs and words....and names.

And before that night, there will be more cars and trains and waterways, and exposure, and beatings and and untreated medical conditions, and the ravages inflicted by the stress of living without a home, and broken hearts, and suicides.

Remember these people. Remember them now, and love them now.

Before they are only a name and a small flame and a song.

Remember them before they become only a memory, in the arms of the angel.