If you are wondering if I have been able to bring myself to the barn since Flash passed away (I still can’t bring myself to type that four letter word), the answer is yes. I went back the same day he was put to sleep. I never even thought I’d want to go back the same day, but I did. I needed to. Flash drew his last breath at approximately 9:17am; I went back around late afternoon, early evening. In the tidal wave of emotions accompanying the event, I’d left his feed bag and brushes from his last morning meal in the same spot we always fed him this summer, near his pasture gate. I figured no one would touch those things, but I wasn’t going to risk it. And like a magnet, I felt the equestrian center pulling me back. It honestly felt like a palpable current was tugging at me.
So I found myself walking the short distance down to the stables; it was as if my body, not my mind, was in control. I’d spent the majority of the hours after it happened pouring my soul out into his eulogy; it had to be perfect. And writing, it helped so much that day. I cannot stress enough how writing helped me heal, even on the very day of it all.
When I was done and I’d posted it on Facebook, I just had to go back. And as it is, where the euthanasia took place is right near where the walking path ends and where I step over a small fence marking barn property. Selecting this spot was a conscious decision; you don’t want someone unsuspecting to come upon euthanization, especially children. The barn manager and I talked beforehand and agreed this was the most discreet area to do it.
As I approached the fence, I felt caught in a world of “Before” and “After.” Before, I’d always crossed this fence on my way to see Flash, feed him, let him wander. Now, it was time to confront reality.
A few paces beyond the fence was where I had said “see you later” to my friend. I refused to say the word “goodbye” during my last talk with him. Gazing at the sandy ground, I could discern exactly where it had occurred.
I took a breath. Before I could stop myself, I sat on the very ground where Flash had taken his last breath, where his body had lain immediately once the euthanasia had done its swift job. I dug my fingers down into the scratchy earth, and began to cry. But I was quick to remind myself that Flash’s soul would not occupy this spot; he was elsewhere, everywhere. So in less than a minute, I was up and walking.
But I wasn’t just walking. My stride was purposeful, and I marched into the tack room. My locker was decorated with posters and flowers. My parents, cousin Nate, and Elizabeth and Madeline (who lovingly cared and rode Flash when I was away at school) had put these up that morning. I’d made two posters the night before, each with pictures of either Flash and I, or Madeline. One of these posters adorned my locker, the other was at the gate of Flash’s pasture.
I then walked over to Flash’s pasture, and immediately saw that a new horse had been put in. I’m not going to lie, I felt anger. It felt like Flash had just been…replaced. It was stupid, I know, but it hurt. And it didn’t help that this new horse was obnoxiously banging his hooves against the gate begging for attention.
Not only that, but the poster we’d taped to the fence was already on the ground, torn off by the wind, I guess. I did my best to dust it off, and re-taped it back on the fence. The flowers we’d left had also fallen over, so I re-arranged those too.
Ignoring the new horse, I walked to where Flash had had his last full meal. Bits of feed lay in the grass, and his brushes and hoof pick nearby. I’d cried as he ate that morning, knowing it was the last time I’d ever brush him, ever feed him, last everything. Once again, I just sat down, alternating between sadness and shock, but never agony. I FELT my boy’s spirit was, and is, at peace.
“Was it only just this morning?” I whispered softly, gazing at the foothills, where the morning sunlight had cast them into gold. In the late afternoon light, they were now a dark emerald green, and I marveled at how it could still be the same day. For five solid minutes, I was lost in my thoughts.
Some movement at the pasture gate caught my attention. Looking up, I saw Flash’s best friend, his pasture mate, a beautiful sorrel mare. The new horse was gone. The mare’s head hung low, so unlike her normal, bright expression. She looked, quite honestly, sad. As if she knew. I unlatched the gate and stepped in, and petted her silken mane and neck.
“Thank you for being a friend to my boy,” I told her. This whole summer, those two ponies often ate at the same feeder, and I often saw them standing together . Not once did I ever see them try to bite or kick each other. The mare was always happy to see me, and she was always content to hang out with Flash. I buried my face in her mane and hugged her tight, and didn’t let go for a few minutes. She stood still like a statue, the two of us mourning as I let myself cry. I am forever grateful for her kindness, and that moment we had together where we both acknowledged our loss.
~LMC
