For once, I am at a loss for words. I have spent endless days and nights struggling to put into words what I want and need to say, and yet inspiration has eluded me and continues to do so to a certain degree. This is unusual for me and typically occurs when sadness and grief have taken over.
Recently, during an extremely cold and miserable night, my big gray mare, Snow Bunny, went into labor. I have been anticipating the birth of her foal for months, excited to see a little “Bunny of Joy” arrive and hit the ground running. I had been remembering to breathe and stay calm as I awaited the arrival of the little one. I was, however, on high alert, checking on her every few hours throughout the night via video surveillance.
The night she went into labor, I remember telling her to please not have her baby that evening since it was going to be -10 below zero. Famous last words. She went into labor shortly after 2 am. I called the vet immediately and my best friend, Raina, and her husband, Adrian, were kind enough to come over and offer assistance. That’s true friendship!
Unfortunately, it was a very hard birth for Snow Bunny, and sadly, her foal was still born. Snow Bunny went into shock and it was a very long process of getting her to a point that she was stable and on the road to recovery. At the advice of both the Veterinarian and Raina, I left the deceased foal in with Snow Bunny so that she could spend time with her and come to the realization on her own that her baby was gone. Snow Bunny licked her foal and pushed her around her stall, encouraging her to get up and move, but it never happened. Watching this broke my heart, but I could also see the realization slowly setting in for Snow Bunny.
When it was time to remove the deceased foal from her stall, Snow Bunny let out a very loud, shrill whinny; the high pitch hurt my ears. It was the loudest I have ever heard her whinny. It was the sound of a broken heart. I recognized it immediately because my heart made the same sound the night the sheriff deputies arrived on my doorstep to tell me my husband was gone. Once the baby was out of sight, Snow Bunny settled down and, in true horse form, started eating hay. I am always amazed at the ability animals have to stay in the present. They don’t dwell on the promise of what might have been or relive the past. There is definitely a lesson to be learned there.
Why is it so difficult to stay in the present? I am filled with tremendous grief. There are no words to describe the sadness I felt that night or in the days following. This incident made me think about my late husband and his tragic passing more than usual, and I started to feel like I did in the immediate days and weeks after the crash that took his life. I couldn’t stop crying, and the only thing getting me out of bed was my horses and providing Snow Bunny with the best care possible. Grief is a powerful entity once it firmly has you in its grasp.
Once again, I find myself trying to rise from the ashes of death and move forward. Although Snow Bunny’s baby is gone, I am reminded that life is beautiful and not everything is meant to be. I have been told that nature has a way of correcting itself and taking care of its own, even if we, as human beings, cannot see or understand why.
I was also reminded of the wisdom shared by the Pastor that resided over my husband’s funeral service. He spoke about how there are certain things that will happen in our lives that we are just not meant to understand, but to have faith that there is a purpose behind everything.
As for Snow Bunny, she is currently on a course of antibiotics and a special feed program while she heals. I am pleased to report that she acts better with each passing day, and it is a wonderful sight to see. There are brighter days ahead.