Somewhere, at some time in my life, I heard or read the words The heart has no concept of time. Those words became a ripple of change within me and my perspective on everything changed. Perhaps for the better.
And when it comes to loss and the grief that accompanies it, I came to grasp a deeper meaning of those words.
Especially last April, when it came time to let go of my horse, Duke. In late March he went into respiratory distress; I immediately took him to his vet, Dr. Dave, who diagnosed Duke with heaves and prescribed a month-long round of Dexamethasone (a corticosteroid) applied topically to his pelleted feed. I tried everything to heal him, soaking his hay in water to remove dust, removing all bedding from his stall. I clipped his long shaggy Cushing's related coat around his vital organs hoping on the warmer days it would bring some relief. Nothing helped him. I was hoping for a miracle. There was nothing further Dr. Dave could do, and so, after speaking to veterinarians at Washington State University, I came to terms with the fact that the time had come for me to make a quality-of-life decision on Duke's behalf. Since that day, just the thought of him, or when a social media memory of him pops up, the flood of emotions flows.
Duke crossed over at mid-morning on April 28, 2023, seven days shy of his 28th birthday.
I am grateful for every moment I had with him. I am eternally grateful for his existence in my life. I am grateful for the fifteen years we had together; those memories are sacred to me. Duke was the gift I always dreamed of but never expected.
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| Duke and I, August 20, 2011 |
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| Duke, March 21, 2023 with his hair clipped. |
