From Hell to Heaven

I am not sure that I will post this.  I have been thinking I may never be able to write here again.  It is not my health but my heart.  I just didn't think I could write about what I remember of that day.  The guilt, the shame, the horror and death.  It is Ednarose, my mix dog is the one who has killed my chickens.  And she did it again.  It was the first day the peeps were coming out of the dog pen.  They were crowded and I couldn't keep the pen or the peeps clean.  Because I was still mourning the loss of my last babies I put up a secure fence and gate where they were.  That was three openings to break through.  I left for an hour and when I came back Bob and Harley run up as normal and act normal.  But the hair was coming up on the back of my neck.  I called for Edna.  She finally came but would not get near me.  She had one of my babies dead clenched in her jaw.  I dropped everything in my hands and ran to the coop.  All of the doors and gates were broken open and the bodies of eight peeps were strewn about their pen.  This time they were mauled.  I came out and Edna's eye were not the eyes I know.  She still had the blood lust going and she danced and taunted me.  I stood up turned around and dealt with my dead peeps.  The most perfect flock of chickens ever put together, all gone.  Horribly gone.  I just broke down and laid in the yard weeping.  I couldn't stop.  My brain does not work the same on the oxy as it did before.  But my brain exploded with this.  I have no idea where the things are, or what some of them even were that I dropped in the yard.  Thursday was my day to clean the house and get the groceries.  Nothing was done.  I think I might have done some cleaning in the morning before I left the house.  I do not remember where I went, other then I know I stopped by to visit Mom and Dad.

I have not talked about this with anyone unless they were with me.  This is just more then I can handle.  Edna came into the house later.  I turned on her like the monster I saw in her.  I hit her and slapped her and beat at her.  Then I beat on the floor as she moved out of my way.  Every time my vision cleared enough to see her I turned into a horrible maniac.  I locked her and Harley in the bathroom.  I can not imagine myself killing anything like that.  But when I looked at her I felt violent.  It made me sick and I threw up over and over.  I went outside and searched for the lost peeps.  Hope still raging with the violence in my heart. 

I did not find any others.

Bug came home later.  I did not call him or go to him when I found the peeps.  What was he going to do?  And I was not fit to drive.  As soon as I had related what I knew he headed to get the gun.  He stopped and looked at me and realized that this was our dog.  I had raised her from 5 weeks old.  Christopher and I gave her bottles when she first came home to us.  Bug has known her since she was less then a year.  I have not simply lost my precious chickens.  But now I had lost my Ednarose.  The dog I named after my Mother and my Maggierose, the greatest black female lab ever.

So here we were, looking at Ednarose, a chicken killer.  We are not sure now if she might have killed the grown chickens earlier.  I can not keep her killing my chickens.  But what to do with her.  Find a new home seems to be the only answer.  But Friday I had my precious sisters and loved ones coming in.  I had too much to do to deal with to even think about Edna.  My brain struggled to understand my feelings.  My repulsion when I would look at her, but then she would sneak over and lay her head on my lap and my heart broke all over. 

When it comes to energy it is interesting when you have enough and when you don't.  I have talked to my friend Carolyn about this, in that if I want to do something I can usually come up with enough energy to do it.  If I don't want to do it, well, trying to get enough energy doesn't always happen.  But I could feel the energy of the day before.  It was violent and horrible and I wept more over that then the loss of my babies.  That I could become a monster was unbearable.  But now I cleaned and mopped, Bug jumped in and helped vacuum.  The house kept my focus and as the blur of events of the previous day started playing in my head and bringing tears to my eyes, I worked harder. 

We left for the airport and picked up my friend Polly from Michigan.  She was on the same training team with the EPA that I was and Debbie from NY and Judy from EPA.  I have not seen Polly for possibly 10 years, I am not sure.  But when she came walking out of the gate, she looked the same, no, maybe more beautiful then the time I last saw here.  We hugged and waited for her luggage and then headed back home taking the Old St. Augustine Road.  Bug had driven that way to the airport and that had done a lot to soothe me.  We got back to the trailer and then Vicki and Nancy came and then Sioux and we had a wonderful weekend.

A weekend full of laughter and talk.  Just being together and renewing our love of each other.  Sioux cleaned all the windows in the Florida room.  She wanted to be a part of the house.  I had wanted to sage it with all of my sisters, but even as I mentioned it, the thought escaped from my brain.  On Saturday I took all the girls on a tour of the new house and then came home in time to have Spat at the house and for Rich and Phyllis from Tallahassee come out to visit.  After Rich left, the six of us girls left for the Opera House to see the Murder Mystery.  It was maybe even more fun this second time.  Knowing what was going to happen I was able to pay more attention to the clues.  Of course, I did not tell the girls who did it.  That would have taken some of their fun away.  We  bet on the Steeple race and laughed and enjoyed our time together.  We got a group photo of all of us with my Amanda in her wenchie outfit.  She was wonderful and amazing in her part.  I kept telling everyone how proud I was that my daughter had been named "wench of the month".  Vicki and Sioux wore wench outfits and a good time was had by all.

We came home and drank a toast of Acorn liquor, a tradition from Mother.  The girls all tried to get me to slow down and let them take care of me.  I really tried to listen to them, but like I said the oxy changes the way that my brain works.  Not just on pain, but I seem to override everything my brain tells me to do.  It is so hard to be fighting between your un-drugged self and my drugged self.  My un-drugged self sends normal messages to my brain, and my drugged brain argues that I am not the boss of me.  I know it is hard to explain, but it cripples my ability to make decisions.  Even the smallest simplest ones, like sit down for 5 minutes and drink a glass of water.

But not only did the visit do my heart good, but I was able to talk about issues like my brain, or being tired, really just about everything that I hate to put on Bug right now.  He has so much on him already.  He handles it all and juggles everything into place and we hope to start moving into the house the first week of June.  maybe.

I was able to sit down and let others do for me.  Not much, but I did try and they saw I was trying.  They talked about what knowing me and having me in their lives means to them.  And as I listened all I could think of was that was my Mother, not me.  She was the fun, gracious, kind, curious one.  I wanted to grow up and be as like her as I could.  But to listen to my friends talking brought tears running down my face because my Mother's influence has been there in all the good and wonderful things that they said about me.  I felt a huge burden fall from my shoulders.  I am so insecure and to have these women, all of who are part of my sisterhood say to me such kind and thoughtful things.  I felt so blessed to have had my Mother and to have these friends who also are all the things they say about me. 

Vicki and Nancy left early on Sunday morning, so we did not see them after they left the house Saturday night after the play.  It was too short of time with them.  But they will be back in September in St. George and then I shall have these two very dear and precious women all to myself.  Janak and Geeta came out Sunday and we all watched racing and golf and just spent a little time together.  Geete made flaked rice and everyone ate it hungrily, even though we had just finished lunch, and we all ate it again with dinner.

Sioux left early Monday morning.  Spat left when Bug and I took Polly to the airport for her plane at 10:00am.  We went out for breakfast and then did a quick trip into Home Depot.  I was literally dead on my feet and Bug saw it, and hurried us out and back home.  He sat with me here at the house until I started to give in and rest.  He put me to bed and then, bless his heart, he went back to the house and worked.

I slept so hard that I did not wake up when his Mom called me.  I never heard the phone.  That is very rare with me.  I managed to go out and spend time with my chickens and ducks, but each time I go near the coop my heart falls apart and I can barely breath.  Today I went out and gave them all treats.  George scares me a little by his size.  His head is bigger then all the hen's heads put together.  But when he hears me call his name he rises on those massive tree trunk legs and thuds to me.  Some of our company told me horror stories about this breeds legs giving out and the birds suffering.  But I have also seen these chickens at the breeders before.  They had one rooster that is much bigger then George.  He was strong and healthy, so I try and work with George to get him up and try and bring him a little closer into the flock each day.  He is trying and I am so proud of him. 

Which only breaks my heart over all of those precious peeps that had stole my heart and are now gone.  Even this morning I have that panic feeling as I walk to the coop.  I know they are not there, but my brain still screams, "check the babies"  I try to stay calm and tell my brain that the babies are gone.

I have no one but myself to blame for the hell I am in.
My sisters pulled me up out of that hell and it was heaven to have them circling me and loving me.  And I am starting to find the balance between the guilt and the loss of my babies.  I know that I will not heal until I can forgive myself.  I have forgiven Edna, but I still do not know what we will do with her.  I am not sure I can ever trust her again.  No, I am sure, I can never trust her.  period.  Can I live with her here like that?  I do not know.  I will take each day and see what I can do for the best of all of my family.

Thank you all my dear friends who were here, and those like Kim and Lori who could not be here, but I would have loved to wrap my arms around those two precious friends and the others who were not here.

I was honest with my dear ones about these fade outs I have.  I will be sitting there talking or just watching TV, walking across the living room, or down the steps outside and it just feels like all of my energy just drains out of me.  Like a brown out of electricity.  Maybe it is my sugar, or blood pressure.  I don't know, but if I make sure that I am safe from falling I find that just giving in for the few seconds it takes to pass is better then fighting it.  I just say, "fading out now" and the girls, with concern, but such love and patience would wait and then I would just pick up where I left.  This fading thing has been happening more and more.

I am going to lay back down again.  I will sleep for a few hours and then I hope to wake in time to drive a load of things over to the new house and see if I can collect my husband who is trying so hard to get me into this home we are making.

My heart still holds the memory of the hell of Thursday, gently cupping it, trying to let it give up some of the pain.  To instead reach towards the heaven of my loving precious dear ones.  This will take time.  Will I ever have more baby chickens?  I don't know.  At this moment, no.  Each of these peeps, although with me for such a short time had filled the gaping hole left in my heart when I lost the first batch.  And now I am repulsed at the idea of simply bringing home more babies to die.  More babies under my protection to not make it.  Each of these babies had been named almost right away because their differences were so dramatic with the banties and the giants and the silkie and the polish and the reds.  I was already looking at who was a rooster and who was a hen.  I have to stop.  I can not talk of this anymore.  It just rips my heart in two over and over.  Tearing against scar tissue and the pain is more then I can stand.

I will sleep, and when I wake, I will go sit with my chickens and remind myself the heaven I have with them.