On Eagle's Wings
A resolution of death

What was a bald eagle doing in the middle of the interstate? As I watched, he spread his wings and tried valiantly to escape the oncoming traffic. One car passed without making contact, but the downdraft of the wind caught the majestic bird and plummeted him into the path of a second car.

The driver didn’t attempt to slow down as his car hit the bird throwing it to the side of the road just in front of me. Thinking that I was seeing an apparition, I pulled over as quickly as I dared and ran to the wounded bird. I believed he was real only after touching his back and caressing his smooth feathers.

It never occurred to me to be afraid. I was overcome with remorse that such a magnificent creature was losing his life and would never soar again. I stroked his back for a moment before taking him into my arms. As I cradled him, he did not resist or try to pull away. I rocked him gently feeling the warmth of his body next to mine. I told him how beautiful he was and that he wasn’t going to die alone.

I will never forget his eyes. Before I touched him, he pierced me with the wild and fierce look that all eagles possess. I paused for a moment remembering times when I had shuddered after looking at the glaring eyes of an eagle from a distance. But, this day, I had no reservations.

As I watched, a transformation took place. When I touched him, a calmness came over both of us. I knew that he was dying, and he knew that he was dying. By some miracle, I was being allowed to hold this beautiful, wild creature the last seconds he would spend on this earth. I could not help but cry as his life slipped away.

As he looked up at me, his icy eyes mellowed and became gentle. The vibrant yellow color turned almost translucent and reminded me of the pale color of newly sprouted corn silk. I saw an acceptance in them—a knowledge that his life was leaving his body and that someone was there to hold him as it slipped away.

As I knelt by the interstate with hundreds of cars whizzing by, I was reminded of the Scripture that says even a sparrow doesn’t fall without God noticing. I knew that I, and no one else, was supposed to be there at that rare and precious moment.
Somehow, I believe I gave that eagle something special. I feel almost certain that he was never touched by human hands. He had no bands on his legs. I estimated that he was less than 5 years old because he still had a few mottled feathers that only young eagles have.

By allowing me to hold him and share his last breaths, the eagle also gave me a priceless gift. Without knowing it, he gave me an experience that I missed when my husband died.

I loved my husband beyond words. We met in college and spent 28 years together and shared two beautiful sons. Although he had been hospitalized numerous times with chronic illnesses during our life together, I always managed to be with him most of the time. That changed the night he died.

No words can explain how I feel about leaving him at the hospital. He wanted me to go home and be with my parents. He was not supposed to be in danger and looked better than usual when I left.

Later, I wanted to return to the hospital and be with him. When I told my mother this, she encouraged me to honor my husband’s wishes—to stay at my parents’ home and try to rest.

When the call came that he was gone, I was inconsolable. As time passes, I realize that he would have preferred that I be with my parents so that they could love and comfort me. I realize now that God had mercy on me. Still, I felt an ache that just wouldn’t go away—a nagging remorse that somehow I had let my husband down.

One of my best friends tried to console me about not being with my husband when he died. My friend told me of watching many men die during the Vietnam War and explained that as death approached, it was sometimes embraced with a calm acceptance and resolution. He said that for some of his fellow soldiers, no struggle occurred.

I tried so hard to accept that fact. I wanted to believe that when my love died he simply stepped into a brighter more beautiful place where there is no sickness or pain. I had wondered how he felt. Was he afraid? Or, was there a brilliant light that beckoned him beyond our world? Did he reach out for me and the boys or did he wave goodbye and quietly slip into the spirit world to embrace a love so all encompassing that we can’t fathom it?

I never understood my friend’s explanation of death until I experienced the eagle’s last moments when he, like a fallen soldier, seemed to almost welcome the release of death. It was so quiet and peaceful that it was indistinguishable from life except that his eyes closed.

I want to believe that death was that gentle for my husband. I want to believe that his last breath was peaceful and that somehow he was cradled in someone’s arms and was gently rocked until he simply closed his eyes. I want to believe that he experienced what we had talked about so many times—that death would be a time of rejoicing.

My experience with the eagle is a comfort to me. It has transformed my husband’s memory into the personification of my favorite Scripture from Isaiah 40 that reads, “…They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run and not be weary; and they shall walk and not faint.”

Oscar L. Beasley died Sept. 23, 1991, just 20 days after his 49th birthday. My encounter with the eagle occurred on Jan. 31, 1993. This column is dedicated to my husband’s memory and in celebration of the seventh year of his eternal reward.

September 1998