09/05/2026
It was pouring rain yesterday morning. I woke up and remembered one of my hens that doesnt seem to care for roofs at night. Her name Thunder. A name my son gave her when she hatched so weak and tiny and thought she wouldnt make it. She did and grew stronger and plumper than all the other chicks.
Usually I dont worry much about her. She finds branches, or a board leaning, whatever when she doesnt feel like going in the henhouse at night. Keeping her cooped up makes her sick and trying to catch her every night has proven fruitless time and time again with us chasing her through the woods and disappearing before we know where she's hidden herself. So Thunder stays free. Yesterday's downpour though had me concerned. Thunder has 4 babies and my imagination had me believing she was standing somewhere drenched. Face adamantly facing the storm as her babes stayed in safety under her wings. "Perhaps she couldn't convince them to find a small roof somewhere. I know they arent old enough to accompany her in a tree or bush. She wouldnt leave them... she would stand in the pouring rain, contract pneumonia and die before they were even raised." π°
I pulled Josh's long green heavy jacket over me as my best chance to wear and maybe not be completely drenched by the time I got back. π
Headed out hood flowing down just bearly able to see the ground below and my strands of hair flowing out and laying stuck around the sides of the hood. Couldnt find her anywhere. I feeling very silly decided id just check the henhouse a minute. There she was in the corner, completely dry and waiting the storm out with her babes. I guess last night did seem like a good night to go in the henhouse for once and here I am disrupting my sleeping birds for no good reason at all. π
Headed back to the house. Pushed the door open violently as the trim always gets stuck and stepped inside oddly in hopes of removing my boots without flooding the area anymore than necessary. I had to have especially looked sinister, because before I could remove my hood and look up, a very small and frightened voice, just above a whisper said, "are you my mommy?" There was my 4 year old big glistening eyes staring at the dreariness of the doorway not quite dark enough to hide the filthy soaked figure of most likely his mother, but what if not? lightning flashing through the window and what appeared to be breaking the door open and standing ominously, aggravated and restless too. Quite the horror to witness when already uneasy with the thunderstorm and only one seemingly awake. All alone and now the mud monster has come... π¨
I flipped my hood off so fast and trailed mud all the way to him determined to remove his fear as quickly as possible. Took off the wet stuff, scooped him up and held him for 45min while drinking my coffee. He hasn't been a snuggly child since he was 16mo old, but for whatever reason, the last couple months he's wanted extra time with his mom when he wakes up every morning. Not much talking. Just flops over me wherever I sit and as though trying to absorb my love for him, as though to feel it still the rest of the day, maybe his whole life, idk...
I have things to do. It slows my whole day, and sometimes its physically painful, but I do it. He lays there flowing down and I see how he's sooo grown. My baby. This is it. This is what I have now of my youngest. These last little child moments. So innocent. So sweet. So trusting.
Caught up on some news last night and I think that society forgets that just because a mother killed her children and those children are dead, it doesnt mean that our empathy/sympathy can not be for those children. It seems to think that the only positive outcome must be for the mother because she is who is currently suffering to do something about...
No, you can place yourself in those tiny frames. Their eyes. Their innocence, their sweetness, their trust. You can feel them too. Even dead. You can do something for them too. Even dead. You can imagine the scenarios when these children faced the fact this figure that has always cared for them before is now worse than their worst nightmares and has come to take them with no one to save them. No one to make sense of it for them, or even the attempt to. It is not like sympathizing with the mom and why she killed them automatically means they dont get justice for being murdered. You can feel both and both be right. Therapy for mental illness can happen behind bars.
If Thunder killed her babies before the rain storm so her babies wouldnt have "greater suffering later" still means no future birds. No future better parents and completely ridiculous because being killed by your own parent is the worst form of suffering. There is no greater betrayal and outside of the natural instincts to sustain life and care about the future of.. life. I had just thought a few hours earlier that Thunder would not leave her babies if they didnt follow to safety and I would lose her, which to me saving her was a greater priority than the chicks because of how great a mother she is. But.... if she wasnt a good mom? If she was known as a chick murderer? What would my feelings be then?
I set out to help a possibly struggling mom with her babies because I empathize with doing your best and being as God made you and that sometimes... not being enough for survival. π Sometimes, we need help, but this help isn't supposed to come once people prove they are terrible parents. Thunder would be in a pot if she purposely killed her babies. If you care for the struggling moms in the world, go help them! Stop relying on the system to just change because a lot of us "care" after the fact. In the mean time, this survivor of PPD will keep telling people that depression doesnt cause murder. Pride does. It happens when you cant possibly grasp the idea you failed. You. Someone that set out to do such great things and now "these people are the reason you never met your full potential". Its their fault. They are in your way right?... Had them because you thought theyd make you something important, now you have to raise them and they remind you day after day after day that your life isn't about you. Terified of never finding yourself again? Good. You werent supposed to. Worried you dont matter now? LOOK AT THEM! You matter to them!! Accept it!! You dont feel good enough? Let them be good enough!!! No one in the whole world will love and need you more. Accept it! Be late for chores. Track mud. Put up with the judgements of others when they think you don't amount to anything, other than being a mom. Its not about you. They are clearly still about themselves. Prideful. Sick. Twisted. Don't join them. If you think being a mom isn't special enough, good! We could use some humility. It brings life. Much better than the alternative....
