Maggie jerked awake at the piercing sound of the telephone, her heart heavy with anticipation. She knew it was bad news; it was always bad news when the phone rang at 2:30 in the morning.
She sat up and turned on the light while reaching for the telephone, silencing its banshee cries, "Hello?"

"Maggie," she recognized the voice of her aunt Lindsay, "it’s Gram. She’s in the emergency room. Everyone needs to come."

"What happened?"

"The doctors aren’t sure yet. But her blood sugar is over 600 and she’s in a coma like state."

"I’ll be there as soon as I throw on some jeans."

Maggie hung up, pulled on her clothes and grabbed an ice-cold Dr. Pepper. At such an early hour, she knew there would be little more than her own thoughts to keep her awake for the hour drive to the Belle County hospital.

She’d driven the roads enough during her college years that she could practically make the trip blindfolded, and the miles of country highway passed without Maggie being aware of them. She turned her thoughts inward, remembering Gram’s battle with her health the last few years. Gram’s shriveled leg, a souvenir from a childhood bout of polio, had lost all strength and stability, forcing Grampa to put her in a nursing home. Her mind fell victim to Alzheimer’s at the same time, and she increasingly lived in the past, forgetting the identities of her children and grandchildren. She never forgot Grampa, though, Maggie reminded herself. A small smile crossed her lips whenever she thought of Grampa’s letters to his future bride. Every one of them addressed the same way, "To my best gril". Grampa never had been much of a speller.

Most recently, Gram had suffered a stroke, leaving her partially paralyzed and unable to swallow. To avoid Gram slowly starving to death, the doctor surgically inserted a feeding tube, and a couple days ago Maggie had gone with Aunt Lindsay to learn how to administer the feedings.

The young nurse from the nursing home had led Lindsay and Maggie into a conference room, "I’ll let you watch the video first and then answer any questions you have. But it’s
quite easy. You’ll see."

Maggie was relieved to see the nurse was right. They simply had to attach the end of Gram’s tube to a plastic bag, which, much like an IV, would dispense the formula.

"You can use any flavor of Ensure," the cheerful nurse had pointed out.

Maggie came out of her reverie when she saw the hospital perched on top of the hill. She pulled in and parked outside the ER, noticing several familiar cars. "Looks like the gang’s all here," she told herself as she went inside.

"Any word?" she asked as she neared her grandfather.

Grampa looked up at Maggie and took her hand, "She’s still in the emergency room. Her body rejected the feeding tube and her digestive system has shut down. Her blood sugar is 640 and she looks like she’s in a coma, but she’s in ketosis. They’ll be moving her upstairs shortly."

Ketosis, Maggie thought, like on the Atkins plan. The blood sugar goes high and speeds up the metabolism. Maggie remembered when she was dating Randy; his breath was always peculiarly sweet, a by product of Atkins induced ketosis.

The sliding glass doors whooshed open, and Maggie watched as Gram was wheeled out. Her eyes were glassy and stared without seeing; her mouth gaped open, her breathing labored and her lips dry and cracked.

Doctor Lyons walked over, nodding to the family. "Mr. Vincent, could we have a word?"

Lindsay and Maggie escorted Grampa to the bank of plastic molded chairs the doctor had
indicated. The three of them sat with their backs to the darkened windows.

"Mr. Vincent, Laura’s very sick," he paused. "And, well, sir, there are some decisions that have to be made." Dr. Lyons continued, "If the worst happens, do you want us to resuscitate?"

Grampa sat quietly, unable to respond.

"Daddy," Lindsay spoke, while reaching over to take his hands, "you and Momma have Living Wills, don’t you?"

They did. Maggie had seen them herself. Neither of her grandparents wished to be kept alive artificially.

Silent tears streamed down Grampa’s face as he rose and headed back to the family. "Let’s pray," he suggested and everyone joined hands.

For three days the family held court at the hospital as Gram’s body continued to shut down. They knew she couldn’t last much longer, yet they stayed to honor her as she neared her journey’s end.

"Let’s sing," Lindsay suggested, before everyone headed back to town for the night.

Clasping hands and encircling the bed, the family sang, starting softly and crescendoing with faith and love, "And He will lift you up on eagle’s wings, bear you on the breath of
dawn . . . "

A nurse came in to hush the family, but instead of interrupting them, she stood in the doorway, a silent witness to spontaneous worship.

"Make you to shine like the sun and hold you in the palm of his hand."

As the notes of the hymn drifted away, so did Gram’s spirit, the collective voice of her family carrying her to heaven with grace and love on her own personal set of eagles’ wings.