I’ve been away from my horse for a few weeks, since I went home for Christmas. I was excited to finally get some quality time with him today, and looked forward to our ride on this GORGEOUS day.
Our time together turned out a little different. Once again, I was humbled at just how much someone who can verbalize nothing to you, can teach you.
I was humbled, once again, at just how much our lives can intertwine.
2019 was not an easy year. Quite frankly, the last two and a half years have been an uphill battle. Death and tragedy have played a heavy role, and for far too long it’s felt like that would never end.
Suffice it to say, I have learned more about grief than I ever imagined I would. I don’t think anybody really plans on discovering what grief means to them, or how to grieve. It’s something we discover often when we least expect it, and when we least want to.
And, we are not the only ones who grieve.
In 2017, my horse lost his best friend. For months after Noah passed away, CB flatly refused to walk through the areas where Noah used to lay. He would actively and purposefully walk around them. The following year, one of CB’s two best pasture mates suffered a horrible tragedy while I was away. I came home to a different horse. He was sullen, and anxious. He’s gotten back to himself since then, but has still not quite been the same.
I received a phone call last night with the heartbreaking news that while I was away for Christmas, his other pasture mate and best friend was not able to survive a tragic colic episode. He spent the next three solid days, screaming. Screaming and searching for his friend.
When I arrived today, we spent quite a bit of time simply sharing time, grooming and loving. I debated whether or not to ride, and ultimately decided we could both use it. Despite his obvious differences – a little slower, a little less engaged – it was otherwise our normal quiet ride. Both of us were relaxed, and it was indeed a beautiful day for a ride.
After a while, something shifted. Nothing happened externally, but I felt something that wasn’t quite right. A few moments later, he began looking left and right. Not frantically, but urgently.
I wanted to keep riding but my gut started screaming at me to listen to him. So I got off, and we headed to the round pen. He’s never needed a whip of any kind to lunge, so once the gate was shut I let him go. He took a few steps away, I walked to the center, and clucked once.
And He. Came. Un. Glued.
Any random person driving by could have easily mistaken this scene as an idiot girl trying to pull a Wild West stunt. I was standing in the middle of the round pen, Kodak next to me, watching helplessly as my horse unraveled through his own confusion, sadness, and grief.
For a brief moment, all I could think was, “Thank GOD. I never in a million years could have ridden that.” Without a doubt, if I had tried to push through that gut feeling, it would have ended very, very badly.
As I continued to watch this unfold, it became clearer and clearer.
Unraveled. That’s what these last few years have been for both of us. An aching season of unraveling.
Lord knows I have my moments. And today, my horse had one of his. Despite the fact that life and its circumstances don’t always make sense to me, they certainly make more sense to me than I can explain to my sweet boy. It doesn’t make any sense to him. Why do those he loves keep going away and not coming back?
I stopped trying to calm him down after a few failed attempts, then stepped back to let him work through it. The truth is, that’s one of the things grief will teach you: it’s really none of our business how someone reacts to their own grief. Every individual will eventually discover their own way, and nobody else gets to decide how, when, or why they deal with it the way they do. Whether or not you “understand,” you don’t get to choose how, or how long, someone grieves. It is an unfortunate, and required, part of life that each and every one of us goes through or will go through, and the very best thing we can do, as friends, family, or whomever, is Let. Them. Grieve.
Be there. Be present. Be ready to listen. But
Let. Them. Grieve.
When CB finally stopped, he was dripping in sweat. He calmly walked, as he knows not to come to me until given his cue. His ears began to perk up again, and focus on me. When I finally asked him in, he turned without hesitation, walked his perfect line directly to me, stopped, dropped his head, and just breathed.
I could almost hear him. “I’m sorry, Mom. I just couldn’t control it anymore.”
“This doesn’t make sense. I don’t understand.”
If only everyone could speak to us the way our animals do. If only everyone could understand the way animals speak to us…perhaps then, we could better understand those around us who act, or react, in ways we don’t understand.
Grief is a battle. An arduous, uphill battle. But it is not a fight you have to fight alone. If those around you do not understand or have no intent to try to grasp what is going on inside you, it’s ok to step away from them and begin a search for a new circle. Not everyone will understand, or have the desire to.
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized how ridiculous it sounds to some people when you relate human emotions to animal emotions. I’ve also recognized the difference between those who blatantly deny or degrade that concept, and those who’ve embraced it or knew it long before I did.
Sadness is sadness. Heartbreak is heartbreak. Grief is grief. And you’d be hard pressed to find a better teacher for all of those things than a horse who has lived through all of it, and then some. And finally, at 19 years old, unraveled it all.
It is painful to watch. It’s painful to see someone you love so much work through their own pain. But even if the way someone is dealing with their pain doesn’t make sense to you, be with them anyway. Be. With. Them. It truly never matters whether you understand or not. What matters is, you are there.
And you being there says “I love you” more effectively and purposefully than any explanation of “I understand” ever will.
I know this is long, but I couldn’t leave this unsaid today. My heart hurts for my horse, who has been by my side and held me up throughout every tragedy over the last few years. He’s always been the strong one for me.
Today, I watched him be me. I watched and felt as he couldn’t hide it anymore, despite trying his damndest to maintain his clarity and focus. When I got off, got in the round pen and let him go, you could almost hear the heaving sigh of relief…”Thank God. I’m so sorry to do this Mom, but I didn’t want to hurt you.”
He didn’t. Once again, he’s built me up. Once again, he’s shown me just how far a little empathy, grace, and understanding can go.
A little love goes a long way. I am so unfathomably grateful to have this boy in my life, who has relentlessly put my heart back together for the past 10 years. Today, in his own way, he put a few more pieces back.
We are always in this together.
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