Off and on, all day long, I have sat with my silver cloth, cleaning years of tarnish from this little medallion. The nooks and crannies continue to defeat my efforts, a bit at least, but I think that I have finally achieved a level of clean that makes it wearable again. And tomorrow, I’ll add it to a chain again and place it around my neck.

That might seem a lot of intention for a tiny medal of angel, particularly for a person who does not consider herself to be an “angel” person. You know what I’m talking about. But I want to wear this medal tomorrow. I want to put it around my neck again on the anniversary of the day that I took it off that first time, after wearing it day in and day out for months, holding it, touching it, and remembering the angel who gave it to me in the first place, who gave it to me so that I would not be afraid as I walked the steps towards the surgery that saved my life.

After that surgery, it was six long weeks before I could comfortably drape the little silver chain with its angel presence around my neck again. But even in its tiny box in the drawer next to my resting place, this little winged creature had been hard at work, whispering the sound of healing to me as I slept and as I waited. This little silver disc performed as promised; it became and remained for me a reminder that healing was possible, and that healing would come.

The reason that it took such an effort to clean the tarnish of years away today was this: I wore that necklace for years after my so-called recovery. I honestly can’t remember how many years, but I do know that one day, looking at its sad condition, seeing its form wrapped in the grey signs of too-long wear, I removed it and put it back in its box. Perhaps I thought that my healing was complete and I no longer needed it. Maybe I just didn’t know how to clean it and restore it to something that I could continue to wear. But just like the teddy bears and dolls and blankets that kept many of us secure in the dark of night as children, this lovely little angel of protection became…forgotten.

Until, that is, about a month ago. You see, healing is a funny thing. It is a process that is never, really over. You might call it the ultimate human condition, being in a state of constant healing. And these last years of living since the beginning of the pandemic have done more than anything else to make that understanding more present to me. These months of COVID and world and cultural upheaval, of greater awareness of things hidden, all of these things have pointed out to me over and over again the ways that my healing efforts, although so successful in so many ways, have been patchy at best.

And so, tomorrow, on the 9th anniversary of that September morning when I traded in my little silver angel for the spirits of all those who walked with me to where I sit today, I’m going to take my little silver friend and put her back around my neck. I’m not sure how long I will let her stay there this time, but I am in need of reminding that, even 9 years later, I must still continue the work of doing what I can to continue my healing walk. And I am so grateful that, through the efforts of so many, I still have the chance to do that, for one more day.