This is a terrible story, but a true one. I really did live this
and much more. At the time it was happening, I thought nothing
of the events. Now, I look back and wonder how a child could
survive. I owe the BeeGees a debt of eternal gratitude. I've not
included all of the story...just what was important to the debt.
The angels who witnessed the events with me are real and if not
for the BeeGees music, I might have not remembered the angels.

When I was five, "Living Eyes" came out. Our local radio station
had a disc jockey who was a fan of the Brothers Gibb, so he
played their music alot. They were the soundtrack for my
childhood, which was a fortunate thing, because I knew misery
firsthand. I needed them, but I had no idea how much I relied
on them even at that age.

The pictures I saw of them, dating from 1975 to 1981, gave me
the idea that they had been sent from heaven to make life bearable
for many people, myself included. I used to lay in front of the
stereo and look at the records and wish that I was somewhere else.

In 1981, my mother tried to divorce my father. With three small
children under the age of six, she knew that it would be hard,
but she wanted it more than anything. She nearly
succeeded. But, one night, in the summer of 1981, while our
house was quiet and peaceful, my father came back with a
vengence. He argued with my mother, threatening her. She
didn't care about her own life. In the tiny room and in the
tiny bed I shared with my siblings, I woke to the fight.
Neither my brother nor my sister woke up...but I saw angels
that night. The only person who knows of this now is you and
my parents...and the angels. It really happened, I know,
because Mom and Dad saw them, too.

The angel leaned over my bed and woke me, whispering. His long
hair swept against my soft face. He put a finger to my lips,
and told me to follow him. I got up and went to the
livingroom. The angel stood behind me as I watched the fight
get louder and rougher. My father had a gun. Mom told me to go
back to bed. I stood still, where I was, my back pressed against
the angel, who put his hands on my shoulders. There were other
angels there, lots of them, around the room. They were glowing
white, as if a light from above shone on them, fading physical
features and leaving only the true essence of their forms.

My mother left the house, letting the screen door slam.
My father followed her, shot gun in hand.

I walked to the kitchen and out onto the stoop. My parents were
still fighting on the sidewalk. Something horrible had happened.
My father, who'd never actually laid a hand on my mother
(preferring to save all the physical abuse for me, his
disappointment of a daughter), had grabbed my mother by the
hair. He'd stopped her from walking away. He drug her, by her
hair, up the sidewalk. She wore shorts, and her legs were now
bleeding and torn. Her bare arms had been shredded on the
concrete of the sidewalk.

She was still defiantly refusing to let him come home. In her
quiet, determined way, she told him no again. She told him that
he should calm down, that I was watching. He said that I'd
never remember any of this. I was too young to remember this.
Mom told him---Look at her, that one will remember this forever.
She looked at me and I knew from her expression, that she could
see the angels who stood behind me. Her eyes had widened but
she said nothing.

I stood, with the transparent, gleaming angels at my back, and
watched in silence. My father put the shotgun in her mouth and
cocked it. He told her she was going to die. She mumbled that
she didn't care...if it meant she could get rid of him, then it
was worth it. Then, he told her, as a final blow, that when he
was done with her, he was going to kill me, and then kill
my sister and brother. Then, he'd blow his own head off.

This registered in my mind, but meant nothing. I knew what he
was saying and it didn't bother me. It bothered Mom, though.
She struggled to her feet and pulled away from the shotgun. She
wouldn't let this happen. Turning on him, her leonine mother
nature took over. Mom pointed to me and demanded that he look
at me. Didn't he see Them?

He turned and looked, angry, and then he saw Them. I watched his
face go blank and then I heard a voice. By the Light, it will
not happen, the voice said. I felt sleepy again. I turned
and went into the house and went back to bed. The angels were
still there when I fell asleep.

The next day, I heard "Living Eyes" on the stereo for the last
time for nearly two decades. I laid on my stomach and
cried. The words meant everything to me, even at five years old.
I heard it as a promise...that no matter what happened, I was
loved, even if it was by some guys that I would never know in
life. The song might not have been meant for me, but it always
seemed to have been written as a promise to a child...and that
was good enough for me. I believed the promise and continued to
live in quiet desperation for the next nine years, as my father
moved back in and life in prison continued.

When Mom divorced my Dad in 1989, I was fourteen. I was her
confidante. She asked me, then, if I remembered the angels. I
said yes, but I wouldn't talk about it. I began to listen to
the brothers again, with the sound of "One". It became my mantra,
helping me get through my own difficulties---a rough marriage
of my own and two children. Each of my children received their
musical love through headphones before they were even born. I
believed in the power of their music and wanted to give that
gift to the children I was bringing into the world, to arm them
against the pain they might find.

Nearly a year ago, I received a video tape from a friend. It
contained a segment of the Brothers Gibb singing "Living Eyes".
I was already a huge fan, but I'd forgotten about that song. I
was sitting in the floor in front of the tv with my daughters
when it started. When it began, I found myself in tears, suddenly
remembering the real, complete events of that night in 1981
...remembering the angels.

I'd forgotten about the angels and how they'd stood with me
during the first of many trying and horrible events in my life.

They'd not abandoned me...they'd never left. I'd carried them,
and the song, with me throughout the whole of my existance.
I sat and listened to the song on videotape and remembered how
much I'd actually survived without thinking about it. My life had
been a mess and I'd not ever thought twice about the conditions
of it. I'd survived and not even noticed, and I owed a thank
you to the Brothers Gibb for that song...and a thank you to
the angels who kept me safe.

I've never tried to guess at the identity of the angels. To me,
they were God's gift of the soul to me. All I remember of them
was bright, shining light and vague forms. I couldn't even tell
you how many there were, standing behind me--perhaps there was
a dozen of them. I have always associated them with the song
"Living Eyes" and with the BeeGees.

In reading this, you must keep in mind, I'm not a religious
person. I have never been a member of a church. I've never
been a person who gave much thought to the hereafter or to a
possible heaven. For me to even talk about the angels I saw is
a big step in the beginning of my healing. I am a logical,
level headed person who has even doubted the existance of God
from time to time. But, what I saw that night has no other
explanation to my mind.

I can not exaggerate what I experienced because I was not the
only person who saw it. My parents, both non believers at the
time, saw them, too. This actually woke my mother--and myself-- up
to the possibility of there being more than what can be
normally seen by the human eye.

I can only open my arms to the music and let it take me by storm,
comforting me in times of misery. When I feel like I might not
be able to face an existance on this earth, I remember
what the music did for me my whole life. I remember what the
angels did for me, by being there.

It creates a warm glow that sustains me. I'm a better person
or what I've known, and I owe this to the BeeGees, because
without that song, I'd probably not have remembered the truth
of the angels. They have carried me when I was too weak
to walk on my own.