"Many people turn to something destructive to deal with grief, like drugs or alcohol," a grief counselor said to me. "But not you. You turned an obsession with chickens into a way of dealing with loss."
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I was a 39-year-old corporate systems analyst when my 45-year old husband suddenly got Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia and passed away within 6 weeks, sending me on a confusing journey of trying to understand life and death.

We hardly ever encounter death in our modern, urban world; but that changes when you invite a flock of chickens to live in the backyard. For all that we think we're in charge, they come and go on their own time. They live and die without ever asking permission from the people who feed them. My hilarious flock of yard birds taught me everything I ever wanted to know about life and death, but that's not all. Those chickens also taught me what I needed to know... if Dave is gone then why am I still here?