I am there. You have been there. I am not the “special snowflake.” We are all, each,”special snowflakes:” unique, unrepeatable, irreplaceable, valuable individuals.
We lose someone we love. Romantic partner. Friend. Mother, father, brother, sister, aunt, uncle, cousin, relative. A pet: a dog, a cat, a horse, or an animal we love.
Or we have to suffer while someone we love is on the brink of life and death. I’ve lost some relatives. I’ve had some hard endings of relationships with girlfriends. I’ve lost some cats. It’s hell. It lasts a long time. You know. I am doing what we have done and will have to do.
At first, I couldn’t sleep much. Sometimes, like this morning, I just want to stay in bed, alone, in the dark. Thursday morning I lied in bed imagining what it must be like to have died from a diaphragmatic hernia, as Heiric did. In other words, to have suffocated from inside. And I imagined what I would have done if I was there, but it was too late to help. Kiss his face. Pet his forehead. Look him deeply in the eyes.
But reality calls. We have to take care of people and pets in our care. Some have children. Some have elderly in their care. I have students to teach, and cats to feed and love. The responsibility of life calls; reality demands obedience.
I am not talking to anyone about Heiric now. I’ve texted or emailed a little, and posted here, but that’s it. No talk, no touch. I need to be alone. That’s how I handle it. We all have our own ways.
I have not been working out. Don’t want to.
I used to listen to music, podcasts, Audible books whenever I drove or was at home. No longer. Right now, I just want silence. I don’t want to hear any of that.
I want to wear my leather jacket even if it’s only 50. I usually wear it only when the temperature is 30 or below. But 50? I usually go short sleeves in that. Not now. Even mild cold is something I don’t want to handle now.
I don’t eat much, only enough to keep my energy up for some tutoring. I have breakfast after going on a walk in the woods, on trails that Heiric used to love running and walking and eating and looking around and enjoying nature. I eat after I am drained and start to stumble. Or because I have to to keep up my energy and feed my brain for tutoring.
I’ve walked and walked trails, everyday, for hours, thinking about what Heiric used to do there and how much he loved it and loved life. I will today. And tomorrow. And the day after. And after that.
Things like ones you’ve probably done. You have your ways of doing the same thing. We have lots of options and room for style within the realm of the rational.
We don’t lose unless we love — but life is not worth living if we don’t love. Not play at it, or have an emotion, or fake it in some other way, but love in thought, feeling, action, and practice. We don’t lose in the real world unless we love in the real world, which is the only thing worth while.
I was so sorry to hear about sudden loss of Bey Heiric. We often have discussions at the hospital about how life seems so unfair when the worst things seem to happen to the best clients or horses. Heiric was no doubt one of the best behaved Arabian stallions we worked on. I will always remember when I first met the both of you when Heiric had injured his leg so badly that we had to have difficult discussions about whether it could be salvaged without a permanent lameness. Your dedication to him and his trust in you allowed him to make a full recovery and gave him several years of good health and soundness on the trails. I just wish there could have been even more years for the two of you to spend together. The special bond that can exist between man and horse was so very evident between you two. I have yet to be lucky enough to have “that one special horse” in my life. I know it when I see it between my clients and their horses. Hopefully you will be able to experience other good horses in your life- but there will never be another just like Bey Heiric- he was a special snowflake.
Thanks, Dr. Schroeder. Thank you for all you did for Bey Heiric.
Some have helped and cared for Bey Heiric, but none as much as you.
Thank you for the routine checkups, the advice, the medical expertise, the minor emergency care. That made a lot of difference in Heiric’s life.
When Heiric hurt both front legs in a stall accident, you were the one who saw him first. You gave him the emergency care he needed to recover. I still remember the skin and all being ripped away. The blood. Being able to see his left canon bone. Heiric was in shock. The bone was showing for weeks. We had to wrap the leg, pack it, medicate it, medicate Heiric. That took months of love and care and healing before it recovered.
And you operated on the left leg when part of the exposed bone sloughed off inside, months after the accident. I remember that, too. I remember the operation. Seeing my horse sedated. Seeing him collapse unconscious in a controlled fall between padded wall, door, and floor. Seeing him helpless and dependent on the ventilator. Everyone working professionally and assiduously.
But with your expertise and Dr. Boutrous’ guidance and advice, you performed the operation perfectly. We had more months of wrapping, medicating, watching, and caring. Because of all that, Heiric pulled through and did not show he had been hurt.
He ran, spoke out, loved friends, and enjoyed life all the same.
You are much appreciated. Bey Heiric loved you.
May all you love live a long, full life to its last dying days.
Reading your posts this week I’ve never felt more powerless to help a friend in need. One of your comments that struck me the most was about not you wanting to go and work out. It actually took my breath away and I had the feeling of wanting to catch you from falling. I feel extremely powerless to help ease your grief, and I am sure everyone else does too. You and Heiric share a thirst for life and love of the world around you. You both challenged your bodies and reveled in their beauty and strength. I have no words of wisdom just hope you are okay and find peace. I hope someday you will find another kindred spirit in this life.
Thank you, Amanda. Much appreciated.
I know you speak and feel from too much experience: sorrow, pain, loss. My condolences to you, too.
We somehow hang on to this earth through it, and push ourselves on, but the pain and loss linger forever.
I wish it did not, but that would mean we did not love, and that would be unbearable.