Our sweet silkie hen Darth Vader died recently. Not sure what ended her life, possibly just sheer exhaustion of being loved half to death every day by four children. GH and I buried her in the front flower bed, laid to rest next to my favorite chicken, Princess Eugenia, who died last year. I was sad that Darth Vader died, but I had purchased seventeen baby chicks last week, unbeknownst to GH until he got home from work and heard a suspicious peeping coming from the dining room table, so I did have some new babies to distract me from the pain of losing Vader. GG2, however, had no such pressing concerns on her mind to inveigle her away from the pure, unadulterated grief that only strikes the truly mad or criminally insane among us.
On the contrary, GG2 set to mourning the death of Darth Vader to such an extent that I became concerned that she would receive a clinical ruling before nightfall. Great heaving sobs, weeping, damp hair stringily clinging to her cheeks, swollen eyes, lips chapped from being bitten in fits of high-pitched keening: by 4:30 PM I was exhausted. She exhibited the entire range of human grief in the span of four hours, taking a break only to eat a small sandwich and cheese stick. I considered creating a Craigslist ad, offering her up as a professional mourner; she could borrow a hajib from our neighbors, put on some heavy eyeliner, and make a healthy living for herself, all before the age of eight.
I let her play games on my phone for an hour while I iced down my aching head; she stopped crying as long as I wasn't in the room. When I walked into the kitchen to refresh my ice pack, she saw me and immediately began the delicate moaning again, never taking her eyes off the tiny screen on my iPhone. GH got us pizza for dinner because he knew that food produced from my hands was not going to be had that evening. GG2 managed to cease mourning while we ate, although she did choke up a bit during the before-dinner supplication when she prayed for Darth Vader's eternal soul. I knew that the evening was still young and this child was committed to the seven steps of grief.
After I went to bed to watch TV numbly, emotionally destroyed from the day, GH fell asleep in the living room. GG2 waited until just such a time as this, because she slipped into my room, shutting the door behind her. I wearily looked at her tear-stained face and accepted my fate. "Come here, baby," I said, trying to sound more conciliatory than I felt. "What's wrong?" GG2 sat beside me, folding herself up birdlike, and began to talk. She talked for twenty minutes, without ceasing, and at one point I considered pressing the voice memo button on my phone and recording the stream of craziness that was flowing from her mouth, but I decided that the authorities might not take kindly to that action. The following are all quotes that came directly out of the mouth of this seven year old child that GH and I created. Neither one of us is entirely sure exactly whom to blame.
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"Mom? You know what? Darth Vader was not just a pet. She was not even a friend. Mom? Darth Vader was..." (pause for a dramatic snuffling and mopping of wet cheeks) "...she was FAMILY!" At the last word, voice is raised to a pitch only heard by bats, red-rimmed eyes are squeezed shut, and hands are wrung.
"Mom? I just feel bad. I feel really bad. I think that there is something that I could have done. I mean, I have just lost my favorite chicken. And I keep thinking that there was something that I could have done, or said, or thought about that would have helped her. Mom? You know what?" (a pause while she reaches out and grasps my hand, her eyes open wide as if pleading with me, her voice now lowers to a whisper) "I would have done ANYTHING to save her! Anything!" (the first anything is whispered slightly louder than the second one. The second anything is accompanied by eyes fluttering closed while one hand clutches at her heart.)
"When Grey Goose died, I felt bad. But, I mean, she was my first chicken that died. And she died of an impacted crop and I knew that I couldn't help her. And then Buttercup died of a broken leg. There was no way to save her. And Princess Eugenia, well, I can't even bear to think about how Princess Eugenia died." (long pause while she cries some more and buries her head in her knees, arms clasped tightly around her legs. I admire her muscular arms and wonder fleetingly why I don't have such well-defined arms. Oh, yeah, it's because I spend my time listening to children's ramblings instead of working out.) "Last week, when that baby Buff Orpington chick died, that wasn't very sad because we hadn't even named it yet. It just was here one minute and gone the next. But Vader....Vader...." (another pause while she screws up her lips and tears course down her cheeks. I wonder if maybe she's dehydrated from crying all day.) "...Vader was different. Vader was special. She was my FAVORITE! I LOVED HER THE MOST OUT OF ALL THE CHICKENS!" (here she raises her hands to her face, framing it prettily while she chokes out the last few words.)
"Darth Vader was such a pretty chicken, Mom. When I held her, it wasn't like holding a chicken. It wasn't even like holding a pet or a stuffed animal, or even a toy that I liked a lot. Mom, it was like...like..." (pause while tears well up in her eyes and her lips draw back in preparation for more wailing. I brace myself for the onslaught but make a mental note to make her an orthodontist appointment.) "...it was like holding my baby SISTER!" At the word sister the tears flow, her tiny shoulders shake, and she throws herself forward onto my legs. I pat her head and roll my eyes. I am starting to get really tired. I check the time. 11 PM. Seriously. 11 PM.
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Eventually GH woke up and heard GG2's lamentations. He came and rescued me and gave her Benadryl and put her to bed. When he came to bed, I began to tell him everything she said, using the same dramatic hand gestures and facial expressions. About halfway through, GH patted me on the hand and said, "Be quiet. I can't hear anymore. You need to blog about this tomorrow. I am going to lose my mind if you tell me anymore. Good night."
I will save GG1's drawing of a dead Darth Vader with X's for eyes that she made during church for another blog post.
