On Saying Goodbye...
Posted: Tue Jan 21, 2020 11:00 am
I haven't said much since after June when Fergus had the really odd choke, and re-diagnosis with EPM that led to our 5th treatment in---at that point---19 years together. There has been so much, and so many times I thought about a DDBB update, and I just didn't know how. I knew in my gut, and my heart, back then that our countdown clock had started ticking. He recovered and did wonderfully, and yet I knew. His routine was different, but not too much harder. I asked lots of "get prepared" questions, even though the vets said we weren't there yet. But they did tell me that every day was a gift and to really try to pour all I had into those moments. In November, he had another episode. No signs of EPM, but that weird choke. We did more tests---here at home, nothing crazy big. I mentally still can't get to all the science for you guys, or answer lots of questions, but maybe some day. Suffice it to say he needed a new routine. It was all about finding the right management plan for his needs, that would also allow a nice life for the herd as a whole. It was really hard, physically and mentally and cognitively to get it right. Then just physically and emotionally. Then mostly physically with a good dose of simmering emotion. He looked great, no one that saw him had any idea of his needs if I didn't tell them. He was content. But I still knew. I'd wonder about how long I could physically keep this up, and I'd cry knowing it probably wouldn't be needed for long despite the vets saying it could go on for years, in theory. He told me things, we talked about what I needed from him. I reminded him every day of how very loved he was, and I kissed his nose A LOT.
I still can't go to the place of details that horse people love just yet, but I will tell you that Friday at bedtime he gave me the first big warning. He was comfortable, 95% of things were fine...I spoke with "his" vet anyway even though she wasn't the one on call...she is our dear friend, family really, all because of Fergus' journey. She was at peace with the details, but the line of communication was wide open if needed. I still knew. There was a lot of in between, all with him still comfortable, but when I woke her up at 7am on Sunday she put her feet on the floor and headed our way despite not being the one working. She reinforced my knowledge of her amazing skills, and through her thoroughness she managed to get info that I am sure other vets would have missed. She spent 2 hours with us that morning, drove about 75 minutes to the closed office to run blood on a new machine she didn't know how to use yet, consulted with an internist and another trusted colleague from her practice---also not working that weekend---to decipher the confusing, imperfect information. And I still knew. When she called back and we talked it through, I didn't feel like the options were options, and I had to say out loud what I really didn't want to say out loud. Even though she was in agreement she called that internist and colleague again, just to make sure my decision was right and she was right to support me. Everyone was supportive.
We said goodbye on a beautiful, sunny afternoon when the rain had finally stopped and the mud had dried enough that getting him "settled" would be possible for "our guy" who had been on stand-by for a couple of weeks because I called to tell him that I knew. I was off from work the next day. All the planets that had been resistant to alignment all Fall/winter, and whose related "what if's" had me terrified, had aligned. Having never done this with a horse before, and having never even been present for it, I tried to steel myself for the dramatic nature I knew could come. My vet was insanely over-prepared with pockets stuffed with anything she could need as we ventured farther from her truck. It was the hardest walk I have ever made, leaving the stall with him and heading for the destination I chose weeks ago...because I knew. Fergus made it as easy on us as he possibly could short of laying down to sleep and never waking up. Our vet was amazed at how and what he did. All I know is that he saved my heart and I know he did it on purpose. I know he waited to leave until I was mentally ready and until the details were all in place for me. He waited until his Auntie could be the one to help his say goodbye. And he gave his vet some additional signs that eased her heart that it really was his time. She told me, "You were right, he was even sicker than I knew. You did not do this one minute too soon or one minute too late...you did this perfectly for him." After he had left, and lots of tears were shed, my vet asked if I needed space or wanted her to sit with me for a few minutes. I chose the latter, and we spread out a tarp in the fallen leaves of the woods and I pet him the whole time. I leaned on him and included him in our circle. And it calmed all humans present. Those few minutes turned into an hours and a half. We laughed a little, we cried some more, we smiled at some memories. DH was amazing through all of this, respecting that this was between me and my boy, but being close by to help in any way he was able. He stood with the donkey, who oversaw the entire event and after-event---he would not walk away from the gate to the woods. DH handled things with "our guy" who was so understanding and kind. DH and I agreed we will never speak of that part of the process, as I went and hid in the house for the burial, but he told me that "our guy" chose a tree that would forever be my landmark, the place where Fergus' head rests, should I want to plant him flowers or hang a memorial of some kind. He faced him towards the barnyard and his herd, to continue to keep watch.
It sucks, I hate it, and it is all beautiful at the same time.
This is what I was able to post on Facebook last night. And these photos are ones that DH took for me last month. I was so moved by Kelo having an unexpected "last photo" of her dear boy, I asked DH to snap a few while we we both down working in the barn one day. It was a fun memory for both DH and myself, and I am grateful for that and for the photos themselves. Thanks for listening DDBB friends, for being a safe place to come type out an emotional purge, and for understanding.
From Facebook...
Godspeed Mr. Fergus. 20 years ago, at 2:30 AM on a cold and windy NC winter morning, I made you a promise. You stepped your 2 year old self off of the shipper's tractor trailer into a terrifying situation for such a youngster. The conditions were about as "non-ideal" as they could get for your first big venture away from your birth farm, and---to be honest--- for your new human with whom you had zero relationship. In the dark and wind and ice, it was you and me, alone. While chaos surrounded us, and you did your very best to hold it together, I told you something. "I promise that if you don't kill me tonight, I will take care of you for the rest of your life," I said. Mission accomplished Big Brown. You are my heart, my partner, my constant...and forever you will be. While I will visit your grave in the peaceful woods of Fergus' Farm, I know your spirit runs free and fast...strong and healthy...until we meet again. Through joys and hard times, epiphanies and frustrating challenges, you were my teacher and my friend, my mirror and my confidant. You made me who I am today. Thank you is not good enough, but I know you understand. You are so very, truly, deeply loved J.R. Fergus Himself and you will never be forgotten.
I still can't go to the place of details that horse people love just yet, but I will tell you that Friday at bedtime he gave me the first big warning. He was comfortable, 95% of things were fine...I spoke with "his" vet anyway even though she wasn't the one on call...she is our dear friend, family really, all because of Fergus' journey. She was at peace with the details, but the line of communication was wide open if needed. I still knew. There was a lot of in between, all with him still comfortable, but when I woke her up at 7am on Sunday she put her feet on the floor and headed our way despite not being the one working. She reinforced my knowledge of her amazing skills, and through her thoroughness she managed to get info that I am sure other vets would have missed. She spent 2 hours with us that morning, drove about 75 minutes to the closed office to run blood on a new machine she didn't know how to use yet, consulted with an internist and another trusted colleague from her practice---also not working that weekend---to decipher the confusing, imperfect information. And I still knew. When she called back and we talked it through, I didn't feel like the options were options, and I had to say out loud what I really didn't want to say out loud. Even though she was in agreement she called that internist and colleague again, just to make sure my decision was right and she was right to support me. Everyone was supportive.
We said goodbye on a beautiful, sunny afternoon when the rain had finally stopped and the mud had dried enough that getting him "settled" would be possible for "our guy" who had been on stand-by for a couple of weeks because I called to tell him that I knew. I was off from work the next day. All the planets that had been resistant to alignment all Fall/winter, and whose related "what if's" had me terrified, had aligned. Having never done this with a horse before, and having never even been present for it, I tried to steel myself for the dramatic nature I knew could come. My vet was insanely over-prepared with pockets stuffed with anything she could need as we ventured farther from her truck. It was the hardest walk I have ever made, leaving the stall with him and heading for the destination I chose weeks ago...because I knew. Fergus made it as easy on us as he possibly could short of laying down to sleep and never waking up. Our vet was amazed at how and what he did. All I know is that he saved my heart and I know he did it on purpose. I know he waited to leave until I was mentally ready and until the details were all in place for me. He waited until his Auntie could be the one to help his say goodbye. And he gave his vet some additional signs that eased her heart that it really was his time. She told me, "You were right, he was even sicker than I knew. You did not do this one minute too soon or one minute too late...you did this perfectly for him." After he had left, and lots of tears were shed, my vet asked if I needed space or wanted her to sit with me for a few minutes. I chose the latter, and we spread out a tarp in the fallen leaves of the woods and I pet him the whole time. I leaned on him and included him in our circle. And it calmed all humans present. Those few minutes turned into an hours and a half. We laughed a little, we cried some more, we smiled at some memories. DH was amazing through all of this, respecting that this was between me and my boy, but being close by to help in any way he was able. He stood with the donkey, who oversaw the entire event and after-event---he would not walk away from the gate to the woods. DH handled things with "our guy" who was so understanding and kind. DH and I agreed we will never speak of that part of the process, as I went and hid in the house for the burial, but he told me that "our guy" chose a tree that would forever be my landmark, the place where Fergus' head rests, should I want to plant him flowers or hang a memorial of some kind. He faced him towards the barnyard and his herd, to continue to keep watch.
It sucks, I hate it, and it is all beautiful at the same time.
This is what I was able to post on Facebook last night. And these photos are ones that DH took for me last month. I was so moved by Kelo having an unexpected "last photo" of her dear boy, I asked DH to snap a few while we we both down working in the barn one day. It was a fun memory for both DH and myself, and I am grateful for that and for the photos themselves. Thanks for listening DDBB friends, for being a safe place to come type out an emotional purge, and for understanding.
From Facebook...
Godspeed Mr. Fergus. 20 years ago, at 2:30 AM on a cold and windy NC winter morning, I made you a promise. You stepped your 2 year old self off of the shipper's tractor trailer into a terrifying situation for such a youngster. The conditions were about as "non-ideal" as they could get for your first big venture away from your birth farm, and---to be honest--- for your new human with whom you had zero relationship. In the dark and wind and ice, it was you and me, alone. While chaos surrounded us, and you did your very best to hold it together, I told you something. "I promise that if you don't kill me tonight, I will take care of you for the rest of your life," I said. Mission accomplished Big Brown. You are my heart, my partner, my constant...and forever you will be. While I will visit your grave in the peaceful woods of Fergus' Farm, I know your spirit runs free and fast...strong and healthy...until we meet again. Through joys and hard times, epiphanies and frustrating challenges, you were my teacher and my friend, my mirror and my confidant. You made me who I am today. Thank you is not good enough, but I know you understand. You are so very, truly, deeply loved J.R. Fergus Himself and you will never be forgotten.