As some of you may have guessed by now, chickenitis is personal with me. Here’s our family story.
My nephew was a type 2 diabetic who had a rare, and very severe, reaction to the medication that he took to control his blood sugar last year. He sustained major organ damage at that time, the worst being to his kidneys and liver. He made lifestyle changes hoping that his liver would heal, but by this spring it became apparent that he would need a liver transplant. He broke the news to his extended family in a text message this April, and my sister requested that I make them all emotional support chickens. I pulled out some yarn and got to work.
Not long afterwards he went on a trip to Hawaii that was paid for through friends; the last picture I saw of him was a selfie taken while standing in the ocean.
A few days after that picture he was home again, returning early from the trip because his health was declining. Soon after his return he was in an emergency room, and two days later my sister let me know that his condition was critical and that he was nonresponsive. He did manage to rally and fought on for more days in the hospital, but when it became clear that his kidney function was too marginal to allow liver transplant surgery, he was moved to hospice care and arrangements were made to allow him to go home.
Shocked by the speed of his decline, horrified that the bottom had fallen out in the city of his mother’s birth, Honolulu, Hawaii, I bundled up the two emotional support chickens that I had ready to go and express shipped them to his home. I worried that they wouldn’t make it in time.
They did not make it. He died the afternoon before they arrived.
The next morning, I woke up to a text showing his swollen-eyed girlfriend hugging the chicken that I had knitted for him.
It was heartbreaking, but I was grateful that the chicken had arrived for her right when she needed it, and happy to see she had claimed it. My sister kept the second chicken, the reddish-purple one knit from homespun, for herself. That chicken quickly became a true emotional support huggable. She took it with her for the memorial barbeque with his friends. She slept with it. The chicken traveled into the mountains on the day that they buried his ashes, along with those of a beloved dog, near a waterway where he used to camp. Raspberry brambles were planted on the site in living remembrance. In my mind, the color of the chicken is linked to the color of the future berries that will come from those plants. Bittersweet memories of a wonderful man gone too soon, a living memorial of berries, and a knitted chicken all somehow linked by the sorrow that has been placed to rest in the Cascade Mountains of the Pacific Northwest.
Emotional support chickens are just… cute little knitted chicken shaped pillows to hug. They are also symbols of love and support when you need those things desperately. They are something to cling to in bad times. Sometimes they are all a knitter can do for another person in need, and sometimes they are just what that person needed.
Now you know why I will never, ever decline a request for an emotional support chicken. Two more requests came this week. I have a spreadsheet and everything. For these people, in the memory of my nephew, for my sister, I will knit every single one of them a chicken.
I invite you to join me.
Knit on, my friends. Knit on.
Yarn, Books & Roses 
You’re a noble soul, Marilyn. I think maybe you’re as good as you are because you know all about suffering …
Lessons learned from scleroderma. There is always a silver lining…
You reckon ? I’ll think about that …
Such a tender story – and good to see you so happily active
I’m so sorry to learn of the loss of your nephew, Marilyn. Purrs here from us, for peace and comfort for all friends and family. It’s so sweet of you to make the emotional support chickens for everyone who asks.
It really has been a huge blow to the family. Thank you for the peace and comfort purrs!!
Oh goodness Marilyn, I’m so sorry to hear of the passing of your nephew who looked so young and happy in Hawaii. I can fully see the impact your little ESC are having. My boss has just been diagnosed with breast cancer, I’m wondering if she’d appreciate one.
Made by me I mean…not adding to your list x
I got that!
I’ve been thinking about the impact of the chickens, and what drives it. One of the worst parts of a serious, but mostly invisible illness, is that you kind of become invisible too. The gift of the chickens is a tactile reminder that you see that person and that you care about them. If your boss is facing chemo, or surgery, I bet that the chicken would mean an awful lot and may be traveling to medical appointments.
The loss of my nephew is a tremendous blow to all of us, but especially my sister.
I’ve bought it and picked some handspun to use, thanks for the inspiration.
I think that they are a great way to use up homespun yarn as the pattern is very adaptable. I think that the chicken will mean a lot to you boss and it can go to the infusion center with her!!
I’ll think of your nephew when I look out the tall windows at school or take my students to the playground. A snow-covered volcano that’s part of the ever-present Cascade range looms above the fir-covered foothills overlooking the school. What a breathtaking mountain range on which to have one’s ashes scattered. The raspberry canes your family planted are a lovely touch. My condolences to you and your family.
P.S. I’d like to imagine your nephew’s spirit looking down at the kids on the playground, while whispering something like, “Ricky, what can you do so Les doesn’t feel bad that he can’t swing because you’ve been swinging for ten minutes straight?” or, “High five, Gina, for sharing the ball with Savannah” (all made-up names, by the way).
Now I will think of your students when I think of my nephew. He was a baseball player, played the trumpet, and loved disc golf. He would send Les out to run a lap with the dog, and then play catch with him afterwards. He absolutely would teach Gina and Savannah how to throw a frisbee. Music lessons after afternoon recess, and motorcycle rides after school. Life in the shadow of the Cascades.
I’m so sorry to hear about your nephew. ❤️
Thank you.
I am so sorry for your loss. I’m still angry at the death of my nephew a year and a half ago from a freak accident. I wish you well and agree knitting chickens is probably great therapy.
It just hurts so much when a member of the younger generation is lost too soon, doesn’t it. Especially when it is something totally out of the blue like a freak accident or a severe drug side effect. Hugs.
Oh Marilyn, I’m so sorry to hear about your nephew. That photo of you two dancing together is delightful; I’m glad you have it. And happy that you had those two chickens ready to go when they were so urgently needed. Who knew chickens could fly that far.
That picture was a surprise that showed up from one of his friends as they put together the slideshow for his memorial celebration. It captured the moment perfectly as I remember laughing with him all through that dance. So happy to see it. I’m still hearing about chickens…
Marilyn, I’m sorry for your loss, your sister’s loss, and the loss of all who loved him. He was far too young. No parent should ever lose a child. Your emotional support chickens are already hard at work. They are such a lovely gesture, and I’m sure comforting to hug and to hold. I’m glad you have a photo of the two of you during happier times, and I’m glad he could enjoy Hawaii one last time. You write beautifully.
Thank you. This has been a horrible blow for my sister especially since, as my niece has mentioned, it is like her whole world fell out from under her. As you said, no one should lose a child. The least I can do is knit chickens!
I’m glad your sister has your love and support. Having something tangible to hold during times of sorrow is comforting, especially when it’s been created with love.
I can’t imagine the pain.
I’m sending all the hugs your way, so sorry for your loss.
I am so sorry for your loss and your family’s loss!