Angel Nightingale: A Nurse's Journey of Healing With Angels

Angel Nightingale: A Nurse's Journey of Healing With Angels

by CHt Soodabeh Mokry RN


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The inspiring story of an Iranian woman who experienced many challenges living in Iran. She lost her father to a sudden heart attack at age thirteen. She was a victim of the Iranian government brutality; she was captured, tortured and beat into a coma at the age of nineteen. She experienced eight years of war and the death of her younger brother in a sudden car accident two months prior to leaving Iran. When she arrived in America, her marriage of ten years suddenly and unexpectedly fell apart. She was left alone with two young children, no money, no family or friends, and didn't even speak English.

Although Soodabeh managed to go back to school again to become a registered nurse in America, she never felt content. To alleviate the emotional and physical pain, she devoted her time and energy searching for answers and found peace and comfort by connecting with the angelic realm.

Her journey of healing and working with the angels started when she had a vision of her brother's death the day he suddenly died. Although she didn't understand the vision at first, she soon realized that it was the beginning of a fulfilling journey. She discovered her gift, mission, and soul's purpose as a spiritual coach and healer.

Soodabeh began to use the healing power of the angels to help her patients overcome their health issues. In this book, Soodabeh shares her heart-warming stories of faith, courage, and healing from her personal life and nursing career. The stories of healing with angels.


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Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781504352284
Publisher: Balboa Press
Publication date: 04/26/2016
Pages: 192
Product dimensions: 6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.44(d)

Read an Excerpt

Angel Nightingale

A Nurse's Journey of Healing with Angels

By Soodabeh Mokry

Balboa Press

Copyright © 2016 Soodabeh Mokry, RN, CHt
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-5043-5228-4


I sensed that the man before me was not sleeping but dead, yet all I could see was his thinning hair — beautiful, dark wisps over a shiny scalp. I longed to touch them. I began to feel I had touched them, that I intimately knew their curl, the stubbornly flat spots, and the way the hands of the man fussed with them. I had seen those hands, that hair, that fussing in my bathroom mirror. My husband. "Hameed!" I screamed and fell toward this dead man.

I sat up. A murmur from my lap oriented me. I was holding Azeeta, my two-year-old daughter. We were in the two-bedroom house my two kids, my two brothers, my mother, and I shared in Iran. Azeeta settled and stayed asleep, and I stood up to put her to bed. I heard the constant blare of car horns and vendor calls outside the window, which was open in a weak effort to circulate the steaming August air. It was late afternoon, and I'd fallen asleep after working a busy shift in the university hospital and taking two buses each way for the privilege.

I went into the kitchen to make dinner. Cyrus, my six-year-old son, was playing with his toys in the living room, talking to them as if they could really hear him, bursting into laughter at times.

"Cyrus, could you please be quiet? Azeeta is sleeping."

He started walking toward me, his smiling black eyes making me smile. "Good, I am hungry," he said. "What are you making?"

"Chicken with rice, your favorite. Do you want to help me?"

Nodding, Cyrus turned and ran out of the kitchen, returning a moment later carrying his toys — red, gold, black, and blue Matchbox cars. While he played with them, he told me stories from day care. I tried to listen and interact with him while making food.

I washed the white basmati rice and put it on the stove. Then I started to fry the chicken, stirring herbs and spices such as turmeric, saffron, salt, and pepper into the pan. The aroma of the spices and olive oil made Cyrus impatient.

"I am so hungry, Mom." His little hands rubbed his stomach, but he kept smiling. "I am really hungry! When can I eat?"

"Soon, honey. We have to wait for Grandma, Uncle Soheil, and Uncle Seamak to come home before we eat. Do you want some milk and cookies?"

Cyrus agreed to a snack and went back to playing with his cars, moving them back and forth and in a circle, talking to them. I was trying to listen to him, but his voice would fade at times as I was trying to make sense of my dream. The image of the dead man haunted me.

Could he really have been Hameed? I thought. Oh God, is he okay? I wished I could pick up the phone and call him. I missed him so much — his touch, the sound of his laughter, the way he used to play with Cyrus like he too was a kid. Tears filled my eyes, but I wiped them with my sleeve; I refused to cry in front of Cyrus.

Hameed had fled Iran three years before to set up a new and better life in America for our children and me. We talked on the phone only once a month. It was very expensive, and I couldn't afford it, even though I was working six days a week. He was living with his sister in America, working part-time and going to school, barely making enough money to survive.

I heard Cyrus again, asking questions. "Mom, did you hear me?" He pulled my skirt with his little hand, trying to get my attention. "Mom, why don't you answer me?"

"I am sorry, honey. I heard you. I am listening to you and trying to get the food ready. Tell me the story. What happened after that?"

My mom and brothers came home later that evening, and we ate dinner. Although I couldn't get the awful image of the dead man who looked too much like my husband out of my head, I decided not to discuss that with anyone.

Cyrus chattered away. "I helped Mom make dinner today," he repeated, feeling very proud of his accomplishment. "Mom, is Uncle Soson coming to visit tonight?"

My mom looked at him and said, "Your Uncle Soson and Aunt Seema and Ali went to Rasht to see the new baby. Aunt Seema's sister has a new baby girl. Do you remember? They are there to visit."

Cyrus and I spoke at the same time.

"When are they coming back? I want to play with Ali," he said, missing his three-year-old cousin.

"I didn't know he went there. I just talked to him yesterday, and he didn't tell me he was going there." I said. A knot of anxiety started to grow in my stomach. "He promised me he was going to go get his passport ready to take us to Turkey."

My brother was planning to take us to the American Embassy in Turkey, so my children and I could get visas to go to America. A year and a half year younger than I, he assumed the role of protector while Hameed was in America. He had always been very thoughtful, taking care of everyone — not just my kids and me. He even called my mom every day, making sure she was okay.

My mom answered Cyrus first. "Well, Ali and Aunt Seema are planning to stay there longer, but Uncle Soson was planning to come back this morning." She turned to me and said, "I don't know why he didn't tell you — maybe he forgot. He is really busy with work, I guess. He has to make sure everything is ready before Seema has their baby." Mom paused, and a curious look crossed her face. "He didn't call me today."

"Maybe he was too busy with work and travel and just forgot," I said, teasing her. I was being purposefully casual, echoing what she had just said to me.

"Too busy to call his mother?"

I laughed, and soon she cracked a smile.

We ate our dinner and watched TV until I was tired. I had to get up early in the morning to go to work.

"Okay, Cyrus. Say goodnight."

Sometime later, I heard my mom sobbing. I wasn't sure if it was a dream or not. I opened my eyes, lifted my head off the pillow, and tried to pay attention. It was real. I got up, opened the door gently, closed it just as gently behind me to not wake up the kids, and walked to the living room. Mom was sitting on the floor, crying. Soheil and Seamak were sitting right in front of her on the floor holding her hands, trying to calm her down. They both looked like they had just woken up, looking disheveled in their pajamas, staring at my mom with eyes wide open.

Her short gray hair couldn't hide the tears running down her cheeks. "He is not back yet. He is not back yet. I know something is wrong. Nobody knows where he is. I know something is wrong." She could barely get the words out.

"Mom, what are you talking about? I don't know what you are saying. You need to calm down. I don't understand you."

Hearing me, she gathered herself and wiped her tears from her cheeks. "I am talking about Soson. Seema called me, asking if I had heard anything from him yet. She said Soson hasn't called her since he left Rasht early this morning."

It was unlike Soson not to call his wife or my mom after coming back from a trip. I felt sick in my stomach, thinking about the dream I had earlier.

Crying again, my mom continued, "He should have been here before noon. It's only a five-hour drive from Rasht."

I was praying quietly. "Oh, dear God, please help him wherever he is — just keep him safe."

Soheil started pacing the room, and Seamak dropped his head into his hands. Their faces were red, yet they were trying not to show any emotions, being more concerned about keeping Mom calm than sharing their own feelings.

Mom got up to get the phone. She called one of our cousins to find out if he had heard anything from Soson yet.

"Soson has been missing, and no one has heard anything from him. I am terrified of what might have happened to him. Maybe he was in a car accident. Call the hospitals and the police department to see if they have any idea," Mom told our cousin before she hung up the phone.

"I knew it. I had a bad feeling today. I didn't want to do anything or go anywhere. I knew it. Where could he be? Oh God, I can't live without my baby," Mom said, bursting into tears again.

Every second seemed like hours as we waited to hear some news of hope. I was sitting on the floor, leaning on the living room floor, leaning against the wall, unable to drive away the thought of my dream. I continued to cry and pray quietly.

The sound of the phone ringing shook me to attention. Mom rushed to answer it. It was our cousin. He told her he had news, so she put him on speakerphone. "Soson was in a car accident early this morning," he said. "He is in the hospital and waiting to have surgery in the morning. I think it would be a good idea to leave now, so you can get there in the morning before his surgery."

"I don't believe you. He must be dead. How come he didn't call us? He must be dead. Oh my God, my son is gone!" Mom screamed in one breath.

I was speechless, still trying to balance my dream with my cousin's words. Both felt like true versions of my brother.

Soheil called another cousin, who lived in town, and told him about Soson's accident.

"I am on my way. Don't worry about anything," Nader said. "I will drive and we'll get there before his surgery."

It was past midnight when we left Tehran to go to Rasht. It was a long drive — five hours in the darkness of night, and every minute seemed like forever.

"Look if you can see any signs of his white car. My baby had just bought his car," my mom said, gasping for air.

By the time we got to my aunt's house, it was morning. I saw my cousins standing by the red metal door, leaning against the brick wall, wearing black shirts and pants. The minute I saw their red eyes, I burst into tears, knowing that my nightmare had come true; I knew my brother was gone forever. I felt broken, shattered into pieces, and I couldn't take a step. I managed to get out of the car, but I fell onto the ground by the door, screaming.

"Oh, my God, no, no, no! Soson is gone! He is gone!"

My cousins helped me up and walked me to the house. "Come on, Soodabeh. Let's get inside." I saw that my aunt and the rest of the family were waiting for us. They came forward one by one to hold and comfort us. I could hear my mom howling in agony; everyone was crying and screaming in pain.

"Where is Seema?" my mom asked my aunt.

"She should be here soon with her mom. She doesn't know yet," my aunt responded.

Seema arrived shortly after, and the minute she saw us, her little body crumpled and fell. "Oh, God, oh, God, no. Please tell me he is okay. Oh, God, please." But she knew that her husband, the love of her life, was gone forever.

We had all unexpectedly lost someone — one of the most wonderful sons, brothers, fathers, cousins, and husbands we had ever known.

Soson had been in a car accident, but nobody knew exactly how it had happened. Even the police report was unclear about the cause of the accident. There were no other cars involved and no witnesses. All we knew was that when the police and paramedics arrived, he was alive. He had handed them his briefcase.

"Please give this to my family. There are important business documents inside this briefcase," he had said to a police officer. The police officer told my family, "He held his head and fell on the ground and became unconscious."

Soson was taken to the nearest hospital, but by the time they prepped him for surgery, he was gone.

Soson was a very kind, compassionate, and loving young man, only twenty-eight years old. He used to call my mom several times a day to see if she needed anything. He always made sure I had everything I needed. Soson used to buy lots of toys for Cyrus and spent time playing with him, so that he wouldn't miss his father.

"Why don't you come to live with me, Soodabeh? I'd feel more comfortable if you did. I want to make sure that you and the kids are taken care of," he used to say to me.

Soson was a wonderful husband and a loving father. He made sure that his family had everything. It was amazing that even after being thrown out of the car, he was thinking about his family. Giving the briefcase to the police officer, he made sure that his family would be safe. When we opened the briefcase, we found some checks and lots of important documents. His business partners knew that my brother was always thinking of the well-being of his family. As a result, they cashed the checks on his behalf and helped to buy a house for his wife and children.

I was very angry about the vision I had seen in my dream. "Why, God, did you show me my brother's death without telling me how to prevent it? What was I supposed to do with that?" I kept screaming in pain. I had been a nurse for many years. I had comforted so many people and saved so many lives. It was breaking my heart that I couldn't be there for my brother, to hold and comfort him and to save his precious life.

I couldn't stop crying and sobbing. Looking at his wonderful wife — seven months pregnant and with a three-year-old son — was making me crazy. I couldn't believe or accept my brother's death; it felt absolutely impossible for me to live and move on without him.

"Why did you take Soson? Why didn't you take me and both of my children instead?" I would ask God, but I couldn't hear any answers. I was miserable, angry with God, and didn't know how to find comfort dealing with such a horrific tragedy.

"Soodabeh, honey, you need to be patient. Please calm down," my family kept asking me. "You have to take care of your children. Think about them. They don't have their father here, and you are the only one they have. You have to be strong for your mother, Seema, and your children. Please calm down."

However, no matter what anyone said, nothing could take the pain away or comfort me. I would sob and cry from the time I woke up until the time I went to sleep.

I would dream about Soson, and I could hear his footsteps at nights. Sometimes I could even feel him by my bedside, touching my hair, and I would hear him talking to me. But of course I would wake up every time.

The day we had to bury him was the most difficult day of my life. The whole family came. His body was wrapped in a white sheet, a Muslim tradition, and he had a beautiful smile on his face; he looked very peaceful. My cousin came and held my hands, saying it was time for me to go and say good-bye to my brother.

"No, I can't. I don't want to. It should have been me. I can't go on without him. He was my younger brother. I should have died instead of him," I said. I was trembling, unable to walk or even to stand up.

"Why did you have to leave me? What am I supposed to do with your wife, with your son, with your unborn child? Who is going to take care of Mom?" I howled and howled in agony.

I didn't want to live, couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, and couldn't take care of my children. My mom and Seema were the same. It was nonstop crying, day and night. I don't know who took care of our children.

We went back to Tehran one week after the funeral. Knowing that I had to go back to work was making me frustrated and angry.

"I don't want to go back to work and take care of other people. I couldn't take care of my brother when he needed me. How can I do that for others?" I cried.

Thinking about what I had seen the day my brother died was confusing and painful. I kept asking myself the reason for that disturbing vision.

It was my first vision, and I was determined to make it the last one. In that moment of loss, I wasn't aware of the gift God had granted me. I had no idea that it marked the beginning of a new life. My brother had become an angel to guide me, awakening my spirit to pursue my life's purpose. I couldn't comprehend that the tragedy I had experienced would in turn lead me to follow my spiritual path, helping others to heal by finding peace and harmony.


Though my entire family had lost someone special in Soson, and though we grieved together — I still felt alone. The love of my life was so far away from me, and we were not on good terms. I wasn't sure how I'd get through a phone call talking about Soson, but I knew I had to tell Hameed. He also needed to know, because he was expecting our children and me to be getting our visas soon; we were now very delayed.

The minute I started talking, tears started running down my face, my heart beat faster, and my body shook.

"I have bad news, Hameed. Soson ... had ... a ... car accident ... and ... uh ..." I said through my tears, but I couldn't continue. My cousin was sitting right beside me, holding my hand, trying to comfort me. I gave him the phone and burst into sobs, gasping for air. My cousin told Hameed.


Excerpted from Angel Nightingale by Soodabeh Mokry. Copyright © 2016 Soodabeh Mokry, RN, CHt. Excerpted by permission of Balboa Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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