Ink passed away two weeks today. A normal, rather boring Sunday. Matt and I were debating on what to do. I was disheveledand in an annoyed mood from the moment I woke up that morning. I think I knew what the day was going to hold. I knew this day was coming for nearly a year. A year ago, maybe a little more, thoughts of Ink no longer being in my life, passing on, was haunting me. Day after day. It was the kind of thought that sits in the back of your head. But I looked at him everyday, trying to ease my anxious mind, that he was obviously healthy and happy. And he was. He was looking so great, acting like he looked. But still, each day, sometimes worse than others, there was always this feeling in my mind and heart that something was going to happen. I didn’t know exactly how but I did actually believe it would have been a colic. But my mind gave me no real answers. It was vague on the idea of WHAT.
I believe that for the last year, Ink and I shared a deeper connection, that maybe I wasn’t truly understanding. He was telling me everyday. When I was at A’s* barn a year ago, you had to walk around a corner to the upper paddocks where Ink was kept. I would look, quickly scanning the paddock as soon as I could see any part of it, for Ink. Was he OK? What would I find when I got there? Ink was never anything but fine when I would go see him, and after hundreds of times walking around the corner to find him looking just as he should, you would think I would have been getting over this weird, obsessive feeling. At times I felt like I was going crazy. You have to remember this was all in a part of my mind. I rarely, if ever, shared this with anyone. Because I didn’t truly understand it, nor did I think anyone else would.
In my mind I made sure all the bases were covered. And like my friend told me, a horse whose being well-kept and watched over properly isn’t likely to colic, at least from things we CAN control. I was like an over-bearing mom. I remember writing that on the blog, using that exact word, one time because I suddenly felt this urge and NEED to hold Ink closer than ever. I suddenly felt like I needed to protect him from anything and everything. But at the same time, I felt powerless. And looking at all these things that are now coming together, it makes sense. I felt powerless because what would be the thing to take my beautiful horse away, was something I couldn’t control. It was something that I wouldn’t discover until it was time to say goodbye.
Ink passed away because, even though it’s still hard for me to realize, it was his time. This is very hard for me to say and even harder to read. I just wrote that, but at the same time, I’m at peace, with a deep understanding of the greater purpose.
When the vets and students at UCD did a necropsy, they found a rare and un-usual thing in Ink’s abdomen. They found a fatty ring which was, somehow contracting the small intestine. Basically the small intestine would slip inside this fatty ring and then slide out. That Sunday the small intestine became lodged, unable to slide itself back out. At this point a part of the lodged small intestine was starting to die off.
Ink held me close during the entire process. I was faced with realities and the truths that were being passed to me through Ink, which was hard to process entirely. I knew it was time, I knew deep down that this was going to be the last day with my beautiful Ink.
“There is something about the outside of the horse, that is good for the inside of a man.” – Winston Churchill
To Be Continued..
Thank You to my many wonderful friends, family and readers. I am so grateful to have had such an amazing circle of supportive people in my life. Thank You all.