Three Months Later...

This past summer was a rough one for me. I found out in May that my horse's health was ailing beyond veterinarian intervention, and I had to spend the summer making some pretty hard decisions.

Three months and four days ago, my horse was put down.

Mal has said to me numerous times how proud she is that I've done so well. And I have done well: The day after Zydeco was put down, I picked myself up and carried on with life.

At least once a week I go to my good friend and neighbor's house to discuss the problems of the world and drink beer. We enjoy these nights, and that particular night in eearly October, I talked to him about how I miss Zydo, how I would do anything to kiss his face one more time. I have a tattoo for him, he is buried here on this farm, but I feel like I don't know how to mourn or remember him. At that point in my life, I had yet to sit down and cry over my horse.

My good friend and neighbor is a very blunt and honest person, and his words were "Do you want me to come over and build a fuckin' concrete monument for the damn horse? What is it you're looking for here?"

These comments might come off as offensive to some, but to me they are rather helpful. I didn't know at that time what I wanted. But I knew I needed to do something, to feel something.My good friend and neighbor was making a point: A concrete monument over a horse seems a little over the top.

I feared the whole time leading up to Zydeco's death and for weeks after that if I allowed myself to sit down and cry, I would never, ever get up. I would sit and cry forever and never be able to stop. It would be the end of me.

But that night I allowed myself to do what I thought I would never do.I went home, I got out my old mounting block, the one that I used to climb onto my horse's magnificent back. I filled the pockets of my plaid jacket with beer, grabbed my Iphone and sat down beside the mound of dirt that marks where my horse is buried.

And then I sat down and cried.

A day after, I talked to Mal. Does this make me unhealthy? Was it wrong? I feel a little better, but is it really ok to sit beside a mound of dirt, listening to sad music and crying? No. Mal thought it was perfectly acceptable. She thought it would become problematic if, say, I was leaving social engagements to sit beside my mound of dirt. But one night, one bout of expressing emotion? Certainly this is acceptable.

For days afterwards I felt like a weight was lifted and I thought I was cured.

And now here we are, on into November. I don't feel like building monuments and I don't feel like sitting beside my mound of dirt to cry.

But sometimes I still feel sad and sometimes I really, really miss being able to go down to the barn late at night with a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, to sit with my horse.