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Death did on occasion find a soul with a red heart attached.
He was never too sure who put it there, but he suspected it was the Giver of Life from upstairs.
Before him lay, Amy Wallace, 84 years of age and about to breathe her last.
One of the things Death liked about his job was a person’s life was there before him at the moment of their death. It made determination easy.
Amy Wallace’s life had been a difficult one. Abuse as a child, a neglectful mother, a disrupted childhood, rape as a teenager and a child from the first rape, a marriage to a disturbed man full of perversities and then a withdrawal from society inside a second marriage that was safe and secure.
What made Amy’s life different was her determination to not just breath and keep breathing but to do something with each breath she took.
It took her a long time to acquire the courage, but after years of re-living her past, she decided to write her story. It was not only an act of incredible bravery to face once again the demons of her past, but in her writing, she reached out to other victims of abuse and so took on an advocacy role, one she never imagined could happen.
Her work opened doors for other abuse victims to reveal and tell their story and take the first tentative steps towards healing and finding peace in their lives.
Amy Wallace was no great stand-out woman. She was a small lady, and as Death looked at her lying in her bed, her long brushed grey hair sitting either side of her face he couldn’t help but marvel at what she had accomplished.
The red heart was a clear indication of where she was to go next. Reaching down he took her hand and led her to the waiting angel.