I woke up to the sound of a fierce winter wind rattling the windows. The warmth, sun, flowers, and joy I'd experienced in my dream were no longer there. The heat I was feeling was due to a handful of space heaters moved into the living room, where grandma was sitting, sickly as ever, on the smaller sofa facing the TV. My eyes flicked over to the old wall clock hung up above me. It was just after 7:30 AM.
Groggily, I got to my feet and shuffled over to the bathroom to begin my day, listening in on my dad and aunt as they made breakfast in the kitchen. In the bathroom, I dressed up extra warm, knowing I'd be braving the frozen wind for church that morning. I knew grandma wouldn't go to church that day. In fact, deep down inside my heart, I knew she'd never leave that house again. Even more depressing, I knew she wouldn't make it to Christmas.
That revelation brought me to tears yet again. I was especially sensitive as I knew that Sunday would be my last Sunday with my grandma. My last living day with my grandma, period. But, the few minutes I took to cry my eyes out alone in the bathroom was what I needed that morning. They seemed to cleanse my soul, and give me just enough strength to endure that final Sunday and make the best of it.
Before I left the bathroom, I washed my face until my cheeks became less swollen and the salt under my eyes had completely disappeared. I refused to let my family see my pain, especially grandma. I needed to be strong for them. I needed to be strong for grandma.
Grandma Shirley, throughout my entire trip on the farm, acknowledged that I was very sad, but was adamant that I didn't cry too much or neglect myself. She assured us all that she was at peace, in no pain, and knew exactly where she was going. After all, she was being visited by relatives she knew, damn well, had passed away. But, still, she was certain that it was truly them she was being visited by, and not just near-death hallucinations.
Looking back, there were moments during the days where grandma would almost startle awake for seemingly no reason. But, then she'd glance over her shoulder and smile, doing her best to make room on the couch for someone only she could see. I even witnessed her reach out her hands and give the air a little hug once. But, to her, she wasn't hugging or making room for nothing. Loved ones were coming by to assure her that she'd have a Christmas. Not with us, but with them.
I plodded out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, where a plate of bacon and strawberry jam toast was already waiting for me. My aunt and dad were in there, and we had a light conversation about the day's activities. Our original plans to go to church that morning were foiled by the weather. It was just too cold and windy out there to go to church. That, and my dad was exhibiting terrible cold-like symptoms, and we were concerned he may have covid. The last thing we needed to do was go to church and infect the entire congregation.
Still, I needed to stretch my legs and get some fresh air to further comfort my scared and grieving soul.
My aunt was right about the weather. It was miserably cold, and the wind was strong enough to lean into at times. Such a wind cuts through even the warmest clothes and chills the bones. I could only stand it for a few minutes before I turned tail and charged back into the house, shivering intensely.
"Can't handle the cold, huh?" my aunt mocked, "I thought you were a Colorado mountain woman or somethin'!"
"Clearly, you can't handle it either!" I sneered back.
"Fair point..." my aunt shrugged.
I ventured into the living room and sat on the floor next to one of the space heaters. I held my fingers up to the vent and allowed them to tingle back to life. Meanwhile, my grandma was behind me, silently asleep on the couch under a heated blanket. On the TV, the local news catastrophized about the state of the world. Once I could feel my fingers again, I reached for the remote and surfed the channels till I found more reruns of Ridiculousness. Finally, I curled back up next to the space heater, wrapped up in my sherpa and a yarn blanket, giggling like a hyena at the (light-hearted) stupidity of humanity.
Eventually, my dad, aunt, and then my uncle Wade joined me and grandma in the living room. Joy filled the room as we all smiled and laughed at the TV. Even grandma woke up laughing along with us, though she didn't know what she was laughing at till she put her glasses on just in time to see a dirtbike rider skid down a sand dune on his helmet.
"Reminds me of you..." my grandma quietly snickered as she turned towards her sons, which only added fuel to our laughter (something, something, boys will be boys).
I still can't explain why we were so full of laughter and delight that miserably cold and dreary Sunday. Perhaps, it had to do with the fact that my grandma made it very clear, over and over again, that she didn't want us to worry or be sad, as she would soon be reunited with passed loved ones. That, and she loved nothing more than to see our wide smiles and hear our hysterical laughter. She's always loved that, as all grandmas should.
While we were in the middle of one of our many laughing fits, my aunt Stacy suddenly shot up from the couch and aimed our attention out the window. There, a huge line of vehicles was beginning to form behind pastor's white pickup truck. They were all following pastor's lead into the driveway. None of us knew why so many people were paying us a visit. Pastor should've been in the middle of a sermon at church. Was he perhaps bringing church to the house?
Aunt Stacy and I rushed to the window, where she began to count the number of cars turning onto the driveway, "One, two, three.... Twenty-one, twenty-two... Oh Lordy! There are so many people!"
"What is happening?!" I asked, worried but also exuberant.
"I-I don't know." Stacy stuttered.
When the train of vehicles finally stopped trickling in onto the property, I rushed to the kitchen to see the crowd forming outside. Pastor came up to the porch, so I opened the door for him.
"How many do you think we can fit in the house?" He asked.
"How many are there?" I asked, wide-eyed as I craned my neck to see over pastor's shoulder.
"About sixty people..." Pastor replied, "We're just gonna sing a few hymns and carols and say a Christmas prayer, so we don't need seats."
"Oh, ok." I nodded, "In that case, y'all come in! Grandma's in the living room. She's awake but not exactly mobile."
"Alright, then." Pastor nodded as he turned around, "Everyone! Maya says come on in! Shirley's in the living room! There's enough room for all of us!"
My dad and uncle held the doors open for our guests (the storm door and the front door), and I stood behind the kitchen island to put some distance between myself and the congregation. After all, I had no idea what the hell was happening, let alone what to expect. Worse, my manners had gone completely out the window on the farm. I was basically feral, and I couldn't remember what a handshake was. God forbid I had to make any sort of eye contact with anyone. Thankfully, our guests didn't seem to notice how caught off-guard I was, and were instead just glad to be in a warm house instead of outside in the relentless winter winds.
It took about ten minutes for everyone to get situated, but once they did, Pastor took the lead. For the next twenty minutes or so, people sang the most beautiful Christmas melody. From my place in the middle of the crowd, I caught glimpses of my aunt and grandma. My grandma's face was bright as ever. She had an ear-to-ear grin for the entire Christmas melody. I, too, couldn't help but smile as the spirit of Christmas made itself at home. In fact, towards the end of the chorus, as they finished with "What Child is This", I was in tears. But, they were positive tears. I was overwhelmed by the love and joy that engulfed everyone. Clearly, they had rehearsed the whole thing just for us, knowing grandma was too sick to attend church at Trinity Lutheran.
After the last hymn was finished, Pastor led us all in a prayer, essentially asking God for peace and healing, "...here on Earth as it is in heaven.", assuring us all that healing would happen, both on Earth for us, as well as in the next life for grandma. Of course, Pastor said that prayer knowing my grandma would probably not live to see Christmas with us, and I appreciated the care he took when choosing his words. In fact, I now wonder if they were Pastor's words at all. It almost seemed like the Holy Spirit had taken the reins of his prayer.
As most people began to trickle back outside, close friends and family, along with the pastor, stayed behind for a little longer. They all stayed crowded around grandma in the living room, many holding gifts, food, and flowers out for her. By then, my grandma had mostly lost the use of her hands, so my aunt took over the opening of the gifts while I decided to take some of the food off people's hands and set it down in the kitchen. Overall, it was a joyful and loving surprise event. One that I will never forget.
(For the record, my dad stayed away from everyone else the best he could. He didn't come back inside till everyone else was situated in the main room and living room, and he stayed in the hallway by the basement door until most of everyone else left. Even then, he kept his distance from the pastor and the few who stayed behind, wearing his mask the whole time).
While Pastor and the others hung out with my grandma, I snuck outside for some much needed nature-time. But, first I joined my uncle Wade in sending off the bulk of our guests. For a brief time, my manners returned. I shook hands, made eye contact, and wore a constant smile. But, as soon as the final guest's car left the driveway, I took off for the barren cornfields, my foxhide headdress shielding me from most of the cold.
Out there in the cornfields, I could once again convene with my Creator. This time, I greeted God with a much more grateful prayer. While I was bereaved and upset that I had to head back to Colorado in a few hours, I was also so thankful to God that the entire community was rallying around Grandma and the rest of the family. I felt as though I no longer needed to be a "sheepdog" in the family, in the sense that I didn't need to worry about my grandma being left alone, or her needs unmet. Grandma would be just fine without me. So would the rest of my Minnesota family.
I could head home in peace.
