The gift of eagles

Ramsy loved birds.  We had a bird book kicking around for years, one that had been in his bookshelf before we were married.  We would occasionally look up a bird that we saw, and eventually he took to jotting down the date and location beside the picture of whatever we had seen.  I was surprised many times by how challenging it was to distinguish between species.  There are a ridiculous number of types of sparrow, for example, some only differentiated by a stripe above their eye or a bar on a wing.  And sometimes we would glimpse a bird perching on our deck and rush to get the book, only to have the bird fly away before we could turn the pages.  What shape was its beak?  Was that white patch on its cheek or its neck?  Did the folded wings extend down below its body?  Shoot. 

Driving the country roads, Ramsy would often point out the window, excitedly indicating a hawk spiraling over a field, or a flock of snow geese glittering past, or a snowy owl biding its time on top of a hydro pole; but the best one, the one he most loved to see, was an eagle, and particularly a bald eagle.  Something about their power and wildness and the graceful way they move never failed to move him, and therefore me.  If I saw one while I was driving alone, I would always let him know later, confident that he would be really excited with me.  But seeing one was quite a rare event that might only happen twice a year or so.

So... it was a profound gift to me that, on the day of his funeral, when our family was all arriving at the cemetery, I looked up from beside the limousine and saw something flicker over the trees that line the north side.  A hawk, I thought, and then saw the flash of white.  A bald eagle circled several times over this borderline and then wheeled away north again.  It felt like God was letting me know in a very personal way that Ramsy was okay, maybe like Rams was coming for a glance at what was happening at the cemetery, coming to say hi.  It's difficult to explain what I mean- I am not talking about a sense that Ramsy was in the eagle, but that the eagle somehow represented him.  Anyway.  It made me happy.

That was October 6th, and the 15th would have been Ramsy's 50th birthday.  On the 15th my sister and I drove into Winnipeg together, and partway down the Number 1 highway I glanced out my window towards a field and saw a bald eagle circling over the loam.  How cool is that?  A birthday eagle!

But wait- again at the end of November, on one of those anniversary dates of which there are so many- the day of his first seizure, the day of his biopsy, the day of our first trip to Cancer Care, the day of his first treatment- I was driving to church with the kids.  Our church is about 7 miles away from our town, down a gravel road through fields and trees and farms.  Just before we got to church, as I was feeling the pressure of sadness over this day which was significant only to me, another eagle- this time, flying across the road right in front of our windshield.  The kids were excited along with me: Look, look!  and I bet Dad gets to see all the eagles he wants in Heaven.  I bet they fly all around him.  I bet he can fly with them!

Three eagles. Three significant days.  Three times when I needed to be reminded that God sees me, that he is looking after me, that he hears me.  And then another one:

A couple of weeks ago the kids and I spent some time at a ranch in Colorado with one of Ramsy's sisters and her family.  It was wonderful to be with them and make a ton of fun memories; but, as I had expected, being on a family vacation without Ramsy showed me new ways of missing him and feeling his absence.  And then it was my birthday, too, and everyone was so kind to me, but it just increased my wish that he could be there.  That morning, while they all went on a trail ride, I went for a walk with just my iPod for company.  Down the dirt lane, over the cattle guard to a meadow with a huge pond, set in the valley.  I was listening to the songs that say how my heart is broken, and realizing again that this thing that is wrong, wrong, wrong can never be set right in this lifetime, and I was weeping and praying Kyrie eleison as I looked up towards the mountain.  There was the eagle, soaring high above the meadow, a message for my heart: I see you, I hear you, I'm listening.  Only for a minute, but that's all I needed.