Tonight has been an exceptionally hard night for me. I suppose I am somewhere between the anger and depression stages of grief right now, because I am sincerely frustrated and burdened with guilt over not opting to keep Niles' ashes.
I am generally an indecisive person, but I have noticed that in deeply distressing situations my brain switches over into some sort of auto-pilot mode, where feelings are irrelevant and logic and pragmatism take over. On the one hand, it's a fantastic coping mechanism for when difficult decisions arise; on the other hand, it doesn't take into consideration the roller coaster of emotions I will experience after all is said and done.
When I first got the text that Niles wasn't eating, his mortality didn't even cross my mind. He was getting older, and colic--generally a treatable problem--is not an uncommon occurrence in horses his age. He had never been sick a day in his life, so I chalked it up to being lucky that he had gone this long without any major health issues, and was prepared to treat whatever ailed him in his twilight years. The vet administered mineral oil, took a blood sample, and promised to call me first thing the next morning. I was already at the barn when I heard back from him: Niles' situation was serious, and that he'd meet me there to discuss the prognosis.
When I say things happened fast, I can't understate enough just how fast everything went down. In the span of thirty minutes, I listened to the vet calmly explain to me that Niles' liver was failing and that his condition was terminal, made the decision to let him go, and had to decide what I wanted to do with his body. All the while, my auto-pilot brain took over: Do what is right for Niles, your own feelings be damned. Be logical. Don't let your emotions get involved in the decision-making process.
A very nice gentleman arrived with a truck to remove Niles, but I had to make a choice: spend $200 to have him cremated with other livestock to be used for fertilizer, or spend $1000 to have him privately cremated and have the ashes returned to me. At the time, it seemed irrational to spend that much money on a pile of ashes. Niles was already gone; it wasn't like he would have cared what happened to his body. Having his remains sitting in a garbage bag in my storage shed seemed like such a depressing thought, and I took comfort in knowing that his ashes would be put to good use. The circle of life in action, so to speak. And since it was my mom who was footing the bill (and had already spent $700 in vet treatments up to this point), I couldn't bring myself to ask her for the additional extravagance of having him privately cremated.
I don't necessarily feel like not keeping his ashes meant I loved him any less; I'm not religious and don't have any particular attachment to bodies. I suppose keeping his ashes would have given me a sense of closure, but I saved some of his mane and tail, and my wonderful farrier has offered to create a piece of art from of his shoes. It's just that, for a horse who gave me so much love and affection for 18 years, $1000 seems like a drop in the bucket. He was worth that and so much more, and I feel like the least I could have done for him was bring him home with me.
Deep down, I know it's pointless to agonize over this. The window of opportunity has long since passed, and I'll just have to make do with the mementos that I have. But for once, I wish I had let my feelings get in the way of being practical. I don't know what I'm going to tell people when they ask if I saved Niles' ashes; "they were a lot of money" sounds like such bullshit when you're talking about a member of your goddamned family. I can only hope that this feeling is merely a part of the grieving process, and not some lifelong burden I'll have to bear.
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