Step 41: Life Goes On

I feel my crippling grief starting to ebb. I've made it a couple of days without crying, and while it's still hard to look at photos of Niles, I don't fall to pieces in a puddle of my own misery upon viewing them. Which is a good sign, because I really don't have the time to come apart at the seams right now. I've been hired to illustrate five detailed drawings on an incredibly tight deadline, and I really shouldn't even be taking the time to write this blog post unless I'm in the mood to pull an all-nighter tonight.

This is fine.

I'm certainly not complaining--while I can't talk about what I'm working on just yet, I can tell you it's a licensed franchise that I'm a big fan of--but boy howdy, it's been a chore. I'm starting to get the feeling that maybe I'm not cut out for this type of work; deadlines are not particularly lenient to the whims of creativity.

“I love deadlines. I love the whooshing noise they make as they go by.” -Douglas Adams

Still, I don't have much else to keep me busy. On the literary front, things are progressing about as quickly as can be expected (which is to say, not that quickly). My full manuscript is out with two agents at the moment (and a partial with a third), but I've played the waiting game before so I know how the process goes. Interestingly, one of my characters from my book visited me in a dream during my mid-afternoon siesta today; it was strangely comforting to be able to interact with them as if they truly existed. We drove together down a road, chitchatting about what we meant to each other, and headed off to explore the basement of my old high school.

Maybe I shouldn't have eaten that cold pizza right before I fell asleep.

Step 40: Take One Step At A Time

The vet who put Niles down called me out of the blue today to see how I was doing. It was curiously serendipitous timing, because I had tried calling a pet loss grief hotline late last night and was unable to get through to anyone. He listened patiently as I bawled my eyes out and relayed my regret over not saving Niles' ashes.

He then said to me that I shouldn't sweat it too much, and that I would not likely feel lifelong remorse over it.  He told me to take comfort in the fact that the hardest decision I had to make, which was the easiest one to screw up--whether to try and prolong Niles' life or not--was the most important one that I got right. He went on to say that he had known many people, himself included, who had tried to hold on to a beloved animal's life for far too long and for selfish reasons, to the detriment of their pet's wellbeing. When the time came for me to choose what was best for Niles, it was a no-brainer for me: I wanted what was best for him, and a dignified death was my parting gift to him.

It never really occurred to me that I would ever chose to prolong Niles' pain because I wasn't ready to let go. My job as his guardian was to make the right choices that he couldn't make for himself. I knew the grieving process would be hard, but seeing him in pain was by far the worse alternative. The vet said he had never seen a young woman make such a hard decision so bravely and decisively, and that he was so impressed with how I handled everything that he had relayed my situation to his coworkers and family members alike.

I have to remember that ashes are for the living, not the dead. Wherever Niles' remains are now, he's not alive to care. I have a lifetime of pictures, mementos and memories to remember him by; ultimately, all that really matters is not where his ashes are but that every second of his life was led in comfort and he was surrounded by love, so I will try and move forward without regret. And I will do as the vet told me, and take comfort in the fact that when the time came to make the hardest decision of all, I chose wisely.

Step 39: Deal With It

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.

Step 38: Find The Strength To Carry On

I had to let my best friend Niles go on Thursday. I know time is truly the only remedy for grief, but I hoped that by putting my feelings into words it would help ease the pain in my heart.

I knew this day would come eventually. Everyone who brings an animal into their lives is automatically signing themselves up for heartbreak, and death is simply a part of life.  As much as I can reason with myself that, yes, it's normal to feel this way, and yes, I made the right decision, I can't help by beat myself up over it. It all happened so fast, and in my robotic understanding that he was never going to get better and for fear of prolonging his pain, I made the quick decision to end things while he was still in good spirits. I wanted to remember him when he was still beautiful, and not a shadow of his old self, but days later I am wondering why I didn't give myself more time to say goodbye. What difference would an hour or two have made?

I sit here with a knot in my throat as I stroke his mismatched shoes--he had a club foot on his right front hoof, and an underslung heel on his left--and I think about what the Doctor said when Clara died:

"The day you lose someone isn’t the worst. At least you’ve got something to do. It’s all the days they stay dead."

It's not like I haven't ever lost anyone or anything close to me before. But, while Niles touched the lives of many, he belonged to me and me alone. We had a bond that transcended species lines--he owned me every bit as I owned him. He had and language and personality all his own that I not only understood, but was entirely fluent in. I knew what his favorite treats were and just where he liked to be scratched, and he knew how to walk gingerly around me as I sat on the floor of his stall, standing vigil while I cried over a boyfriend or a tough loss or simply because I had bit an onion.

Half of me is thankful that the decision was essentially made for me, that his condition was terminal and that I wouldn't be given the option of a long, painful treatment process to extend his life by a few extra months. The other half is consumed with guilt, wondering if maybe the signs were there and I could have spotted it earlier if I had just been looking for it, wondering if I simply didn't take care of him well enough to give him all the years he should have had.

The outpouring of support and sympathy has been vast and overwhelming. I know countless friends who have been in my shoes, so to that end I understand that my pain is just a drop in this bucket we call life. Unfortunately, it's my burden to bear--which seems apt, considering Niles carried me for 18 years. It's my turn to carry him in my heart for the next 18 years, and for the rest of my life.

FF Bey Ovation (1993-2016)

Step 9: Embrace The Hay-ters

I want to take a moment to talk a little bit about a special dude in my life.

*sniff sniff*

No, not my husband (although he's pretty special too). Well, I don't know--what do you call a companion you've been with for nearly twenty years? Four-legged spouse? Significant fur-baby? Whatever. He's my horse, Niles, and he's a total babe.

Maybe he's born with it; maybe it's Neigh-belline.

Niles (pretentious registered name: FF Bey Ovation) and I go way back. Our life-long love affair started in the fall of 1997, when I was on the search for the perfect mount to satiate my ever-growing desire for a show horse. My friends and I piled into a car and drove a few hours away to the barn of an Arabian horse trainer named Lance Curtis, where we anticipated being presented a half-Arabian bay mare for consideration.  Instead, they brought out a skinny, purebred chestnut gelding with chrome for daaaaaays. The rest, as they say, is history.

Love at first derp.

Niles is truly a special gem, and I'm not just saying that because he's mine. Generally speaking, Arabian horses are bred to be extremely specialized, which means that if you want a laid-back western mount, you best not be looking for a horse sired by IXL Nobel Express (unless you have a sick sense of humor). Niles is unique in that he excelled in multiple disciplines beyond the one we intended him for.

He was a Regional Top Five winner in Country English Pleasure...

...a Scottsdale Top Ten winner in Arabian Mounted Native Costume...

...a Youth Nationals Top Twenty winner in Purebred English Show Hack...

...and even went on to win a Scottsdale Reserve Championship in Arabian Hunter Pleasure...

So... yeah. Niles truly is one of a kind, in my book, and it's unlikely I'll ever have another horse like him in my lifetime.  We've been through some rough times together, like barn fallouts and ligament surgery...

Never pass up an opportunity to turn lemons into hilarious lemonade.

...but nineteen years later, we've make it through thick and thin. Niles was never an easy horse to ride--even at 23, his Huckleberry Bey blood makes me feel like I'm riding a controlled explosion (and you can forget ever hacking around on him in a mere snaffle)--but he never ceased to challenge me as an equestrian, and I recently contemplated getting him back into show shape and possibly entering him in a sidesaddle class. But he's earned his retirement, and I certainly wouldn't want to mar his record from the last time I showed him in 2008--three for three in blue ribbons!

Niles never did win a National Championship, but I've considered immortalizing him in a future novel ala Cammie's Choice. Maybe then he'll finally get to wear the blanket of roses he deserves.

TBH he'd probably try to eat them.