Processing VII

Yesterday was a rough day for the two older sibs. Girl, howdy, siblings can be mean. I don't know which of the children was pinching and poking meaner. I didn't bother to run the stats on that one. I just plied marshal law and put a stop to whatever bickering was popping. Each assertion of marshal law ended with grievous tears in the arms of a grandparent crying for the loss of their son. NFF, my pet. I want your mommy and daddy, too. Both were deeply disturbed, but they loved you more than life itself, my little one.

Measuring by the reactions of baby sis, we handled it well. I believe infants are the most sensitive emotional barometers available. She acquired a deep, concerned look with each round, but no baby screams.

In a few hours, we will begin the southward drive to the viewing at the funeral parlor. The children will leave there with the other grandparents. They are excited at the prospect of seeing them again. Go guys. May both branches of your family tree remain lovingly accessible to you. We will meet up at the graveside service Tuesday morning and drive back here after the service. May we all find loving closure we can carry into the future.

The feather babies will be untended and unprotected tonight. The chicken coop will be open to predators. The turkey babies are roosting on the open walls of their turkey den now. They have no coop to shut. Turkey coops arenae as readily available as chicken coops. No, a chicken coop willnae suffice. They are much bigger birds. The walls of their den are high enough that they are quite possibly safer than the chickens who are trapped in their coop when disaster strikes. Of course I am feeling the reflex to hide behind the feather babies in order to evade the social proceedings ahead. Which babies do I hide behind?