The Chicken Who Saved Us

by Adams, Kristin Jarvis;

  I looked out to the crowd. I could tell I had their attention—the leaning in, hands in their laps, a look of anticipation on their faces. I could do this. I had been waiting a lifetime to tell our story, and now I had an audience.

  “But our story doesn’t end there. When Andrew started school, a predictable pattern of high fevers and painful ulcerations would emerge for ten days of every month. And then I overheard Andrew tell Frightful he thought his body was trying to kill him…”

  I told the audience about Dr. Torgerson, about the bone marrow transplant, about medical miracles, and what I was learning about faith. When I finished, I sought out the woman in red. From the center of the ballroom, she smiled, brought her hand to her mouth and pulled it away in the gesture of a kiss—a similar gesture I had seen my children do many times before. She smiled and nodded, then stood with the rest of the room in applause.

  As I descended the podium, I caught sight of Dr. Torgerson, his bright smile, his unmistakable gold-rimmed spectacles and silk bowtie. He waved, a shy wave, and mouthed the words: Well done.

  * * *

  The sound of running feet reached my ears long before I was fully awake. Andrew had been waking up early for days, running through the pre-dawn light to fetch Frightful in the coop. Each morning, I found them on the porch wrapped in Jon’s down jacket and a cozy fleece blanket.

  “Frightful’s voice sounds different,” Andrew told me one morning. I had joined him on the porch, wrapped in my own blanket. I shivered as the December air pushed its way through the folds, forcing me to pull it tighter around my neck.

  “How so?” I asked.

  “It’s lower. See?” He tapped the top of her beak with his finger and she clucked.

  “She sounds fine to me,” I said. I hadn’t noticed anything different besides the fact that she always seemed to be in the process of molting.

  “Her voice is different. She’s quiet,” he said, determined to make me understand.

  Frightful started to coo deep in her chest. It sounded exactly like her familiar chicken song.

  “How come you’re out here so early?” I asked. “It’s barely light.”

  “Frightful wants to talk, so we’re talking,” he replied.

  Frightful nestled her body further into the folds of the blanket. One glassy eye stared at me through a half closed lid. I left the two of them on the porch and went in search of tea. Jon and Hannah would be up soon, and I wanted a few quiet moments to myself before I had to face the demands of my day.

  When I wandered out to the coop that afternoon to gather eggs, I saw Frightful alone, sitting in a small patch of filtered sunshine.

  “Craaww-cruk-cruk. Craaww.”

  I desperately wanted to know what she was trying to tell me.

  “Craaww-cruk-cruk. Wraaawwwww.”

  My frustration mounted and I felt tears push at the back of my eyes.

  “I don’t know what you’re trying to say, little bird.”

  I reached down to scoop her in my arms and she let out a weak chirp and pecked at my hand. I wondered if I had hurt her. I set her back down and the two of us sat in silence.

  She didn’t speak again.

  Jon left for work early the next morning, leaving me the luxury of spreading out across the whole queen-sized bed. I scooted to the hump in the middle and immediately fell into a deep sleep.

  Minutes later, Andrew came tearing into the room. “Something happened to Frightful!” he cried.

  I sat bolt upright, shaking off the remnants of an early morning dream. Andrew stood at the foot of my bed, still as a statue made of stone.

  “Something happened,” he whispered this time. “She fell off the perch.”

  My heart sank. It was like hearing the voice of my eight-year-old boy, the one who told his pet chicken that his body was trying to kill him. I suddenly understood what Frightful was trying to tell me the day before. She was saying goodbye.

  Andrew led me to the coop, his long, awkward strides slowing the closer we got. I knew what I would see when we opened the door. I knew I would be teaching my son about death—about grief and love and loss. I would tell him grief, love, and loss are woven tightly together, none fully experienced without the others.

  I opened the door and saw Frightful’s small body crumpled below the perch.

  “We’ll find a special place for her,” I told him as I lifted her into my arms. She felt too light, like she had left only the shell of herself behind.

  Andrew fisted both hands at his sides, then brought them to his face to hide his eyes. I recognized the gesture. It was similar to the one he used to show Frightful what pain felt like. He sniffed, tears leaked through his fists and dropped to the floor.

  “Do you think she’s sleeping?” he asked.

  I didn’t know how to answer. His mind knew she was gone, but his heart was in denial. That’s the thing about letting go. We never know how long it will take. Sometimes it happens in a flash, and other times, we have to struggle through the hard work of grief.

  “Frightful is not sleeping, Andrew,” I said through my own tears. “She lived a long life and passed away. Let’s find her a safe place to rest her body.”

  Andrew’s face crumpled into an outward picture of grief, but he remained silent, standing behind me in the doorway. I wanted him to cry out, rage, beat the walls of the coop with his fists at the unfairness of life. That’s what I wanted to do. Yet I wasn’t surprised at his reaction; it was almost always counterintuitive. I knew his emotions would go deep, sinking into the depths of his soul to be processed in his own unique way.

  “But where did she go?” he asked, his voice calm and curious. “I loved her.”

  He crossed both hands over his heart, and this time, I sobbed. I had no answer. How could I explain this mystery to my son who thinks in the literal? I was still absorbing the shock of it myself.

  “She will be okay,” he said, reaching out to pet my hands that cradled his best friend.

  Was he talking about me? Himself? All of us who had grown to love her, too? I knew we would hear about Frightful’s death for a long time. I knew he would make the symbol for bird when he was especially missing her comfort, or he would make a benign remark about her over a bowl of spaghetti that reminded him of the worms she dug up in Jon’s garden. But the secrets she kept would be interjected into conversations with no obvious connection. Those, I would have to riddle out in order to discover what my son was really trying to say. When I unraveled those secrets, I would realize that my son’s way of processing life was brilliant.

  When Sue pulled into the driveway a week later, Andrew met her outside. “Follow me,” he said.

  He led her into the woods, past the huckleberry bush and to a depression at the base of a fir tree.

  “Sit here,” he told her, crouching on his knees next to his friend. He pointed to a stack of newly unearthed stones ringed around a rotting branch that stood on its end. Strips of moss draped across the tops of the rocks.

  “Frightful is gone. Mom said she was a very old lady. I don’t know where she went, but I think she’s in heaven now,” he said.

  Sue put an arm around her friend and pulled him close. His body went rigid, then relaxed.

  “I think you’re right,” she said after a while. “Frightful had to be strong for you, now it’s time for you to be strong for her. She would want that.”

  Andrew picked up a stick and scraped an “F” in the dirt. He surrounded the letter in a diamond shape, like Superman.

  “I miss her with my whole heart,” he said.

  Sue traced the superhero symbol with her finger. “She still lives in your heart, Andrew. She will always be there.”

  Andrew stared at the rocks, dry-eyed. “But she was my birdy-bird.” he said. He pinched his thumb and first finger together and placed his hand on his chest.

  Sue covered his hand with hers, her heart breaking for her young friend. “I wonder if Frightful knew she had to stay until you could hold her aga
in?” she said. “I think she needed to make sure you were okay.”

  The tears finally came, and Andrew wiped his nose on his sleeve. A ruffle of leaves broke the tension as a buff-colored hen cut through the salal and made her way to the clearing where Andrew and Sue sat.

  “What are you doing here, Daisy Duke?” Andrew asked.

  The young hen scratched, pecked a few times, then settled under the green canopy to witness Sue and Andrew’s tribute to Frightful.

  “Would you like me to tell you a story?” Sue asked after a while.

  Andrew placed his hand in his lap, his fingers still fanned out in Frightful’s symbol.

  “Yes. And make sure this time Frightful has a cape.”

  ~

  Frightful was with us for over ten years. To this day, the place we buried her is a protected piece of our yard. I know chickens can’t talk, but Andrew and Frightful had a bond—a soul-speak—that went far beyond words. With all that Andrew had to endure, Frightful was his confidant, his strength, and his emotional oasis. With his loving sister’s genetic assistance, amazing healthcare professionals were able to address his rare physical condition. But it was Frightful, the chicken, who saved my son.

  ~

  ~ Survival Guide ~

  Tips and resources for parents, caregivers, friends, and family

  So you’ve found yourself in the middle of a raging storm? What do you do next?

  When BIG things go wrong in my life, my natural instinct is to search for a way out. I don’t want to feel the pain. But sometimes pain, discomfort or even an earthquake in our lives is what makes life real. Tragedy demands us to stop and assess who we are, what we are doing, and what choices we are making every day. A crisis affords us a moment of stillness before we take action. There is an odd pause when the storm hits that forces us to take inventory and stop any pretending we formerly had the energy to live with. That pause—that moment—is the place where grace has the chance to enter and we have the chance to recognize it.

  Here are some practical things I learned about staying healthy, happy, and raw enough to recognize grace (if only a little!):

  Tip 1: Take care of yourself first. You will do no one any good if you crash and burn. Lock the bathroom door. Take a breath. Hide in the car with your favorite song and weep. Whatever you choose to do, take care of yourself. FIRST!

  Tip 2: Become part of a ‘tribe.’ Find the 3:00am people (it can be as few as one or two) in your life who are truth-tellers—those who will be honest with you, support you, laugh with you, love you, and stick with you even when your life is a disaster.

  Tip 3: Surround yourself with people who will listen to you rant and will trust you will take action when you need to. When my son was young, I found many of these people were within the special needs parenting community. The best supporters made me laugh in the middle of my tragedy. They were often older, wiser, and more experienced than I.

  Tip 4: Nurture your marriage. Raising a special needs child, or any major life crisis can fracture a marriage. Regroup every day, even if it’s a simple text that says, ‘I love you.’ Throw a frisbee, go for a walk, watch a favorite comedy, or do whatever you do to remember why you started this journey in the first place. Take turns to give each other the grace to have a bad day. Carve out time to listen to one another—really listen—with your eyes and ears and heart.

  Tip 5: Don’t be afraid to ask for help. I resisted for many years until I was ready to crumble. There are many resources at a hospital including social workers, palliative care, ombudsman, and a chaplain.

  Tip 6: Find someone to be your representative or ‘Life Coordinator,’ so you can concentrate on the crisis. Let them interface with questions and offers from well-meaning people.

  Tip 6: Start a blog, or have someone do it on your behalf. It can be a simple way to communicate with a large group of people who want to know what is going on and find out how they can help. One friend used takethemameal.com to create a customized online sign-up sheet that made it easy for people to bring us meals.

  Tip 7: Sleep is the ticket to sanity when you are in the hospital. It strengthens your immune system and allows you to make sane decisions. Invest in noise cancelling headphones or use earplugs. I use a facemask to block out the light. I’ve tried them all, and in my opinion, the best one is Bucky Eye Mask. Find it on Amazon.

  Tip 8: Beware of making on-line purchases when you are sleep deprived. I like to virtual shop and add multiple items to my cart, dream about it, then exit the site before I am tempted to dig out my credit card.

  Tip 9: Get outside and move! Exercise releases all those good hormones that keep your mind and body happy. Many hospitals and community centers offer restorative yoga classes. If you don’t have enough time for a class, put on a jacket and take a walk, even in the rain. You may never FEEL like doing it. Do it anyway.

  Tip 10: I learned how to meditate, and I use Insight Timer, a mindfulness app. My daughter uses Relax Melodies: Sleep Zen Sounds to help fall asleep. You’ll find both online.

  Tip 11: I started using a mantra, repeating a phrase whenever my mind would race with worry. I change up my mantra as need be, but I find “All is well right now” helps me reframe my thoughts and stay in the moment. Find one that suits you.

  Tip 12: Keep a stash of healthy food at the hospital with you. When I was there for weeks, and then months, it became my solace at 1:00 a.m. when I finally realized I hadn’t eaten all day.

  Tip 13: Institutional toilet paper is like sandpaper. In order to avoid itchy butt, bring your own 2-ply toilet paper when you check in to the hospital.

  Tip 14: A smile and an approachable demeanor go a long way when dealing with a medical team. Be polite, even if you have to grit your teeth. Know when to follow the advice of the team, and when to advocate for your loved one. You’re the one who knows them best!

  Tip 15: Bring a friend to important medical appointments to take notes. Ask lots of questions. Don’t be afraid to disagree or ask for a second opinion.

  Tip 16: Give yourself permission to feel. Cry. Cry a lot. Alone. With other people. In the car. It just might be what the doctor ordered! Crying has been proven to release toxins, kill bacteria, improve mood, relieve stress and boost communication. So go ahead, reach for the Kleenex and let go of your sorrows!

  Tip 17: If a friend or loved one is in crisis, do NOT ask them what you can do, and do NOT tell them you feel helpless. They may have no idea what to ask for, and they are the ones who feel helpless. Take action. Do something that others would never think to ask of you. Clean toilets. Do laundry. Fill the refrigerator. Bring by healthy snacks, soft socks, new underwear, and lip balm. My neighbor shoveled three weeks of dog poop off my front lawn and cleaned the chicken coop. The night I came home and discovered what he had done, I cried.

  Tip 18: Bring meals to the hospital for the caregiver. One family friend brought me a picnic breakfast of steel cut oats, a fresh fruit salad, breakfast muffins, and stuffed the basket with an assortment of tea bags. It was the first real meal I had eaten in days!

  Tip 19: Reading was nearly impossible in the hospital because I couldn’t concentrate long enough to keep the story straight. I appreciated magazines with short articles and lots of pictures, Sudoku, knitting, scanning news on my iPad, and binge watching shows on Netflix. My favorite series was Friday Night Lights.

  Tip 20: Don’t believe everything you read on the Internet. Give yourself a break from social media so you won’t be tempted to compare yourself to others that look like they have a perfect life.

  Tip 21: When I was going through the darkest days with my son, I decided to write a daily gratitude list and email it to one friend, the same friend, and she sent me a list back. It began changing my outlook on life. Now on hard days, I send my friend many lists to help get me through those hard days.

  Tip 22: Start a journal. It actually helps to get your feelings out of your head and onto paper. You might keep one at home, one in your car, or a small one tucked i
n your purse. In addition to purging angsty feelings, I make a point to write funny things that my kids say. Looking back later, I am reminded of all the reasons why I love them so much.

  Tip 23: Stop to pet a dog or cat, or watch birds soar across the sky. Animals have a way of grounding us and reminding us to live in the moment.

  Tip 24: Visualize a mini vacation. With your eyes closed, picture a place (real or imagined) where you feel safe and relaxed. Using all your senses, feel yourself in comfortable clothes, hear pleasant sounds, see beautiful colors, taste something delicious. Visit this spot whenever you need to relax and de-stress.

  Tip 25: Give yourself a pep-talk by reading from a daily devotional or gratitude book. I love the devotional, Jesus Calling, by Sarah Young, and a little gratitude journal called, Daily Gratitude: 365 Days of Reflection, by National Geographic.

  Tip 26: Laughter truly is the best medicine! A hearty laugh is contagious. It reduces the stress response, increases resilience, boosts immunity, combats depression and relieves pain. When I was stuck in the hospital, I found that witty banter back and forth with a friend over text would break my cycle of stress and help me cope.

  Here’s a short list of resources to help get you started:

  AUTISM

  The word ‘autism’ can strike terror in the hearts of parents, leaving them feeling confused and helpless. Fortunately, there are countless resources on the Internet for information about autism, and chances are, your community and local school district will be able to guide you to help.

  If you are just learning about ASD, I like the groups, Autism Speaks (autismspeaks.org), Autism Now (autismnow.org), and the National Autism Association (nationalautismassociation.org)

  If you are in Washington State, these are excellent resources:

  University of Washington Autism Center depts.washington.edu/uwautism/

  Seattle Children’s Autism Center seattlechildrens.org/clinics-programs/autism-center/