Angel of Mine

 April 19, 1985

That night was the epitome of the ’80s—capturing the vibe in every way. Little did I know that before dawn the next day, my life would be turned completely upside down.

It had been a long week at the bank, and I was looking forward to a quiet evening: a quick dinner, a relaxing soak in the tub, and an early bedtime. But fate had other plans.

Grace called around 6:30. Jack had a friend in town from up north, and she wanted me to join them for a night of dancing—a surprise celebration for my 21st birthday earlier that month. I was exhausted and definitely not interested.

“Oh come on, please! It’ll be fun!” she insisted, with an excitement I’d never heard from her before.

I’ve always had a hard time telling people no. Since she also worked at the bank, I figured she’d understand. Besides, my boyfriend Mike was definitely not into clubs or dancing, and even though he’d be working the graveyard shift at the airport, I knew he wouldn’t be okay with me going out on what was technically a double date.

“I promise, we won’t be out that late! Please come with us!” she pleaded.

I spent five full minutes explaining all the reasons I didn’t want to go. She was relentless. It became clear I wasn’t going to win this one.

“Okay,” I sighed. “But I don’t want to be out really late.”

“No problem! I’ll be by in 20 minutes to pick you up—it’s going to be so fun!”

We arrived at José Murphy’s, and the guys met us at the door. I barely knew Jack, Grace’s new boyfriend. It felt awkward. She and her longtime boyfriend, Dave, had introduced me to Mike, and for the past couple of years, the four of us had been inseparable. She and Dave had only broken up a few months earlier, and she’d met Jack shortly after that.

Jack’s friend—I don’t even remember his name—was in the Navy, in San Diego on leave. That’s why Grace had been so insistent I join them. He was polite, decent, and kind to me all night, which was a huge relief. Everyone knew I had a boyfriend, and they all respected that.

Once we’d ordered our Long Island Iced Teas and the music got louder, I felt myself relax. We were on the dance floor for nearly every song, and I started getting caught up in the rhythm and energy. It turned out to be a really good night—full of laughter, great conversation, and pure fun.

As things began to wind down, the final slow song began to play. A handsome blond guy in white pants and a yellow shirt approached me and asked if I wanted to dance. I said yes. He had the face of a cherub and the most beautiful head of curls I’d ever seen. There was no sexual attraction—just an instant, deep soul connection I had never experienced before or since.

It was common in clubs back then for vendors to walk around selling single roses. In the middle of our dance, he stopped, purchased a yellow one, and handed it to me. I was stunned. No one had ever done something like that for me before.

I thanked him, and he looked into my eyes with a beautiful, radiant smile. It was almost as if I could see his aura surrounding him. To this day, I remember everything about that sweet moment.

As the song ended and I thanked him again, he stopped me.

“Here, let me give you my number,” he said, with a look of pure kindness in his bright blue eyes.

I took the scrap of paper and tucked it deep into my jeans pocket. I didn’t know if it would ever lead anywhere, but just knowing someone had been so kind to me that night was enough. It was the perfect ending to a spontaneous, unforgettable night at José Murphy’s.

On the drive home, Grace seemed distracted—maybe tired. I offered to drive, but she insisted she was fine. When she dropped me off, we agreed to meet for Mass and breakfast the next morning. She promised she’d go straight home.

My parents weren’t there when I walked in. My sister-in-law had gone into labor, and they were staying just a few blocks away, caring for my nieces. I called my mom to tell her about the evening—and especially about the guy who gave me the yellow rose.

“A yellow rose? That’s the symbol of friendship,” she said. “He almost sounds like he was an angel.”

The thought hadn’t crossed my mind. But I agreed—it did feel like something beyond the ordinary.

The next morning, I went to Mass and breakfast alone. I’d called Grace, but it went to voicemail, so I left her a message.

“Mary! You’ve got a phone call—it’s Jack!” my mom shouted from the other side of the bathroom door.

“I’ll call them back in ten minutes!” I called back, shampoo dripping from my hair.

“You need to take the call—it sounds important,” she insisted.

I wrapped a towel around myself and answered the phone in my parents’ room. My dad was reading in bed. My mom stood nearby, watching me.

“What? Grace is dead?” I asked, my brain unable to process the words. “What hospital is she at?”

“No, Mary—she’s dead,” Jack repeated. “I’ll be right over.”

I dropped the phone, my heart crashing into my throat. Numb, I turned to my parents and shared the devastating news. Then I collapsed on the bed, sobbing. My life would never be the same again.

Jack and his friend arrived shortly after, as did the police. They questioned us about the night. Grace had apparently gone to Jack’s apartment after she dropped me off. He was the last person to see her alive. Her car had hit a light pole in a single-car crash. She hadn’t been wearing her seatbelt—unheard of for her.

The funeral was four days later. I walked through those days in a haze, completely on autopilot.

Back at home, I found myself thinking about the young man who gave me the rose. The flower was still sitting on my desk. I decided to finally look at the name on the piece of paper he had given me, maybe even call him.

I searched every pocket, every corner of my room.

It was gone.

I know for a fact I had shoved it deep into my pocket. There was no way it could have fallen out.

And just like that, my thoughts turned to what my mom had said that night.

Could he have been my guardian angel?

Maybe he handed me that yellow rose—the symbol of friendship—as a quiet, sacred gift. A way of letting me know that this night would be my last with Grace. A gentle nudge from the universe… to remember that kindness, connection, and friendship exist beyond what we can ever explain.