It's a very long story. When I first "met" her, they lived in Oregon, then moved to Kentucky. Her husband was a younger man by a few years, a disabled veteran with severe PTSD issues that became increasingly abusive. I tried to get her to leave him and come live with me because it was becoming obvious that he would be physically abusing her soon, not just verbally, but she was obstinate about giving up on her marriage. Eventually, her health declined and her heart was compromised, she was severely hyperthyroid, etc. The straw that broke the camel's back was him pushing her down the stairs and breaking her hip. She never fully recovered. By then, her daughter had been kicked out, her chickens were farmed out to others, she returned her Arabian mare to our friend, Beth, in NC where she came from-everything she had other that him was gone, as I told her it would be. There was other horrific things he did, including having a fit and shooting into the chicken coop, hitting and killing Isaac's son I gave her, a rooster she adored beyond words. That rooster once got between her and a snarling pitbull that wandered onto their land. After that, I said he was never welcome to set foot on my property ever again. I had visited them in KY once and they visited here once and she did with Cheyenne a couple of times as well so I saw things go downhill with her husband over all those years, become progressively dangerous.
She eventually left her husband and moved to Wisconsin with her daughter, but it was too little, too late. By then, her heart was only at 20% capacity, and I only rarely heard from her. Previously, we had talked about an hour a day by phone. That man tortured her by telephone until her daughter bought her a new one and he didn't have the number, but the stress was too much. She called me one week a few months ago to tell me that her elderly neighbor in Kentucky, a sweet lady who I'd gifted many chickens in the past, had died. The next week, I got a call from Cheyenne about her mother passing away, said she fell and hit her head in the bathroom, but I think her heart gave out, causing her to fall, not the other way around. She was 7 years younger than me. So, my dear sweet friend is gone and I still can't believe it. I want to tell her things all the time, stories of the chickens she loved here. There is a lot more to the story, of course, and I think if she'd left him five years ago, she might still be alive today. Stress is truly a killer and I can't imagine enduring the stress that she did.