Minutes after my aunt rudely startled me awake, I was at the breakfast table with a plate full of bacon, egg whites (I don't like egg yolk, it just tastes weird), sweet peas, and a small spoonful of questionable-looking hashbrowns. Grandma wasn't hungry enough for breakfast that morning, which deeply concerned us all, especially since she was quite sick the night before. My aunt (the optimist of the family) figured that grandma was just worn out after the excitement from the night before, and she just needed to rest in preparation for another family get-together. 

"Oh, she'll be right back to 'er old self tonight, I know it!" my aunt Stacy declared. 

"I'm sure hope you're right..." I silently thought as I chewed the last of my meal. 

Just then, my dad strutted into the kitchen, asking me if I wanted to go to uncle Wes's with him for a bit. There, I could shower and enjoy a slight change in scenery, before going back to the farm with my two youngest cousins. 

I headed out into the blustery winter morning with my dad, and we took off for Wes's in the Taco. Once there, I spent some time with the animals at his house. Wes's dogs were overjoyed to see me (and I was ready for Hank to jump on me that time), and a grey calico cat followed me around the house and into the bathroom, purring very loudly and brushing up against my legs whenever she could. I was warned that the friendly calico liked to be in the bathroom with whoever was in there, because she loved the warmth that the shower gave off. As someone with two dogs who are just the same, I didn't mind having a cat perched up on my clean clothes as I showered, so long as she stayed there. 

Once showered, I dried off and finished getting ready for the day feeling like a brand new person. The calico leapt up on the counter as I was brushing my hair and gently pawed at me. She, too, wanted to be brushed, which I did, and she loved every second of it. I wasn't, however, going to share my toothbrush no matter how many times the cat asked me to. 

Cleaned up and ready for the day, I headed back outside where my dad was waiting for me. Instead of returning to the farm right away, we'd take a couple hours to ourselves. My aunt and uncle Wade had grandma taken care of for a awhile. Dad was interested in Wes' most recent construction project, so I let the men go discuss my uncle's sunroom-in-progress while I wandered out into the barren cornfield. I needed some alone time to process everything I've been through thus far. Alone time with the Lord. 

I trudged across frozen soil till I was almost halfway between Wes' and the farm, where I felt comfortable enough to begin my private conversation with God. By then, a sickly feeling had settled deep within my heart. Grandma was not gonna live to see Christmas. 

At first, I was angry at God. Angry that He was taking my grandma so soon in such a horrific way. I held back no punches. I cursed God, both aloud and in my heart. I ranted about how absolutely hellish dying of cancer must be, and asked God why He couldn't take my grandma swiftly, and instead chose to take her slowly and agonizingly. Why did she have to suffer so much towards the end of her life? Why did it have to be so soon? Why wasn't she given more time? Why, why, why?

Then, came the tears, which I allowed myself to shed. In reality, my anger was only hiding my pain. I didn't really mean any of the dreadful things I had to say to God. I was just pissed at the cancer, and needed to get it off my chest. I wondered (and still do wonder) what purpose dying of cancer had. I knew that Jesus called illness and death opportunities for His hand to make an appearance. But, if that was the case, where was His healing this time around? Why did He seem to withhold His curing hand from my grandma?

Suddenly, a screech from above spooked me out of my prayerful state. In the cloudy skies, a bald eagle swooped down and glided just five or so feet above me. I could feel the breeze of his wings he was so close. The eagle then banked right to make one more flyby, before disappearing in a little grove of trees on our land. From the barren branches, he continued to screech, almost as though he was shouting, "I'm here! I'm here! Look at me! I'm here!"

My grandparents identified themselves with the bald eagle, much like they identified themselves with the Hereford cattle. While my grandma was dying at home, bald eagles made their presence known much more than usual, and seemed to want to be seen by us all. Sadly, they never stayed for a picture. My encounter with that eagle in the cornfield was no different, but much more personal as it was just me who witnessed it, during a conversation with my Creator. The encounter reminded me that my grandma was ready to go be with the Lord, and reunite with my grandpa. That's why God wasn't healing her, but was instead allowing her to die at home without any pain. 

My grandma wasn't dying alone or afraid. Sure, it was uncomfortable for her, but she was at peace and lucid when she wasn't sleeping. She reminded us that she loved us, and she was loved, and she would celebrate Christmas with her husband. When I asked, "How do you know?" later that day, Grandma replied, "Because my twin sister came over the other day, and told me she would bring me to see Bob soon, and we'd have Christmas together."

My grandma's twin sister died in 2016. I didn't know this until I told my dad about it, and he looked at me like I had grown a second head. 

Despite that, I believed my grandma wholeheartedly, as she wasn't the least bit confused or delirious. She knew, damn well, that her sister and husband had both died. Yet, she was apparently being visited by them, and the visitations were realer than real to her. According to the hospice nurses, almost everyone who is dying will have these types of visions. They're mysterious and almost unbelievable to those of us who are alive and well. But, to those who have one foot in this life, and one foot in the next, it's anything but mysterious and impossible to believe.

My grandma was sure of where she would soon go, and was sure of who she would soon see, and was more than ready to see the face of God. 

I now understood, much more clearly, why God was allowing her to die. She was eager to go. It was, in a way, her choice. A choice I will forever revere.