19 Nov 2017
Yesterday we lost our newest arrival to farming family. That's the problem with free range chickens, you can't watch them all, all of the time. Even though the plan is to build them a large 6m x 4m coop off the end of bottom equipment shed to live from, I always wanted to have them free range, (albeit nesting under my porch on me). So a very busy day of admin and stuff in town saw me away from farm for nearly 6 hours. I took Rex with me for first 3 hours, then had to return to drop him off - my swim rehab class doesn't accept Labradors, not when he has 3 dams to swim in himself. I finally got home after 4.30pm, but didn't notice the chick missing till nearly 6pm, when they all return to coop to go to bed. Why should I feel so bereft from the loss of a single chick? And that's it, I shouldn't. I am a farmer now and that's life on the farm. Life comes and life goes.
This overwhelming sense of responsibility for everything is a symptom from my PTSD. And as irrational and irritating as it is, its there. And nothing but constant repeating of "I am not responsible", will keep me from feeling it. Whether it was another bird of prey, or a snake , I'll never know. But the lose I feel. I bloody well miss the silly little dammed ball of fluff. All 4 inches high on its tiny drumsticks.
This got me to thinking this morning about how loss affects us. How the grief makes us think. And I don't mean the loss of another life, but hey that's an area we wont trespass on today....the loss can be from all sorts. Your job, your friend, your health, your marriage...your mind.
Many a morning I wake to watch the sky from the porch to count my blessings, for being in a place of peace; for feeling the peace. Unfortunately though its not every morning. Waking with an anxiety attack this morning and having to forcibly say ''breath'' to yourself to make it subside, is not the best way to wake. Again these PTSD symptoms keep returning, despite a 12 week therapy course, but at least I now have the toolset to know how to deal with them. Was it a dream I had? I don't know. Was it a subconscious feeling of responsibility for the loss of a single chicken? Bit severe, but maybe.
Unfortunately the feeling has been there for many years and has its origins (somewhat but childhood is another) with my deployment to Iraq, and the subsequent loss that brought. Yes the loss of life. Many. Far too many.
In 2007 I had to attend 23 military funerals in the UK. I cant remember each individual one, because after the fourth or fifth the numbness set in. A deep numbing loss of funeral fatigue. Did I know all those soldiers personally? No of course not, but that's not the point. That sense of responsibility is what makes my loss greater, or at least makes me think (feel) that way. That somehow, somewhere I should have done something more - how irrational is that?! But soldiers all belong to one big family. So any soldier lost is felt by the whole. We all felt that loss. Still feel that loss. Fuck it.
"I am not responsible". The cockatoos are back. Its raining again. And back to farming life we go.
Yesterday we lost our newest arrival to farming family. That's the problem with free range chickens, you can't watch them all, all of the time. Even though the plan is to build them a large 6m x 4m coop off the end of bottom equipment shed to live from, I always wanted to have them free range, (albeit nesting under my porch on me). So a very busy day of admin and stuff in town saw me away from farm for nearly 6 hours. I took Rex with me for first 3 hours, then had to return to drop him off - my swim rehab class doesn't accept Labradors, not when he has 3 dams to swim in himself. I finally got home after 4.30pm, but didn't notice the chick missing till nearly 6pm, when they all return to coop to go to bed. Why should I feel so bereft from the loss of a single chick? And that's it, I shouldn't. I am a farmer now and that's life on the farm. Life comes and life goes.
This overwhelming sense of responsibility for everything is a symptom from my PTSD. And as irrational and irritating as it is, its there. And nothing but constant repeating of "I am not responsible", will keep me from feeling it. Whether it was another bird of prey, or a snake , I'll never know. But the lose I feel. I bloody well miss the silly little dammed ball of fluff. All 4 inches high on its tiny drumsticks.
This got me to thinking this morning about how loss affects us. How the grief makes us think. And I don't mean the loss of another life, but hey that's an area we wont trespass on today....the loss can be from all sorts. Your job, your friend, your health, your marriage...your mind.
Many a morning I wake to watch the sky from the porch to count my blessings, for being in a place of peace; for feeling the peace. Unfortunately though its not every morning. Waking with an anxiety attack this morning and having to forcibly say ''breath'' to yourself to make it subside, is not the best way to wake. Again these PTSD symptoms keep returning, despite a 12 week therapy course, but at least I now have the toolset to know how to deal with them. Was it a dream I had? I don't know. Was it a subconscious feeling of responsibility for the loss of a single chicken? Bit severe, but maybe.
Unfortunately the feeling has been there for many years and has its origins (somewhat but childhood is another) with my deployment to Iraq, and the subsequent loss that brought. Yes the loss of life. Many. Far too many.
In 2007 I had to attend 23 military funerals in the UK. I cant remember each individual one, because after the fourth or fifth the numbness set in. A deep numbing loss of funeral fatigue. Did I know all those soldiers personally? No of course not, but that's not the point. That sense of responsibility is what makes my loss greater, or at least makes me think (feel) that way. That somehow, somewhere I should have done something more - how irrational is that?! But soldiers all belong to one big family. So any soldier lost is felt by the whole. We all felt that loss. Still feel that loss. Fuck it.
"I am not responsible". The cockatoos are back. Its raining again. And back to farming life we go.
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