Tumbling

I have never, ever seen a needle that enormous, and I'm around needles and IVs all the time.  He snorts as the injection pierces his sleek neck, the whites of his eyes brilliant despite how much sedation is running through his system.  It only takes a second, and his body begins its horrible, final downward spiral.   The veterinarian holds one end of his lead rope, motioning with his free hand that I should stay back.  Moe falls forward, catching his full weight on his nose, the same sweet, soft muzzle that was always so eager to search visitors for goodies.  Now his momentum doubles his neck painfully, nearly flipping himself over.  I yelp partly in anguish, partly in helplessness, knowing there is no bringing him back from here.  Ever.  And he is down, laying on his left side, his breathing deep.

Somehow I manage to choke out words, enough to ask if I can pet him as he passes.  The vet nods, and I wrap my arms around his neck, watching him through tears as his life beats away slowly, slowing, slower, to nothing.  Inches from my face, the vet is checking for a pulse, the dilation of his pupils, those last exhales, but I am lost, burying my tears in his mane.  He is gone, and I feel like maybe I have gone away with him.

~ ~

It's been a month, and contrary to what my blog posts may lead you to believe, most days I feel okay.  I function.  Today it was work as usual.  An interview.  Cleaning my grandparents' house so they don't have to.  Coming home to kids, who promptly inundate me with request upon request.  Working on formatting some business documents for a friend.

It hits me out of nowhere.  A lady who runs a horse rescue I am "friends" with on Facebook was being criticized for being overly-emotional because she was upset about a rescue horse that had to be euthanized.  I guess.  I don't really know what the story was because I couldn't stop picturing Moe tumbling and falling that last time.  As long as I live, I am sure I'll always be able to recall his last minutes.  I'm traumatized, in only the way you can be when you see someone you love so much slip away right in front of your eyes.  It was my choice to be there until the end.  They tried to send me away, to shield me from this pain, but I knew the pain of not being there with him would have traumatized me more.  There was no winning this one, only an endless array of options for losing.

When I see a picture of their horse's weird skin crud someone posts online, I remember the endless hours I doctored his legs.  Horse fungus shouldn't make me cry, but it does.


When I close my eyes to pray in the middle of church, he is there.  If he comes to me in prayer, my heart wants to believe it means something bigger.

I see that silly horse everywhere, and in everything because, for 19 years, that horse was with me for everything.  I talk about him a lot, and most of the time it doesn't make me break down in tears.... but sometimes I do.  And I write about him and about this sadness because I need to, probably more than any of you need to read about it.  Thank you for letting me do my thing and for not giving me a hard time about it--at least, not to my face.