I didn’t expect to find Lucy dead on the floor of the coop as I went in that bright sunny afternoon the Friday before Easter. I had just seen her in the morning and she and I had our usually interaction. As I was busying myself tidying up the coop, Lucy was my constant companion, chatting away with her deep voice sharing all chicken things with me. She’d come in and out, nuzzle near for a quick pat on the back. To and fro, she has been my daily escort for years. As a result, we had developed a little ritual that I looked forward to every morning.
I’ve been trying. I really have. Grief is a funny thing. One minute it’s not there and the next minute you find yourself with tears streaming down your face for no particular reason. Like falling leaves, the tears just simply come when you are walking out the mailbox, cooking dinner, spending time with loved ones. They just come. I guess you could say I have been heartbroken. As I looks back, I was lucky. It took me many years until I had to experience this deep kind of grief. I thought that I knew grief from so many years of helping others through it in my nursing career, saying goodbye to loved ones, grandparents, aunts, uncles and favorite pets. For the first time, I can honestly say that I have a hole in my heart.