The Package

When the package was delivered, I had no idea what it was at first.  I hadn't been expecting anything, and I couldn't remember any outstanding orders.  Then I looked at the return address.  And it felt like my heart stopped for a second, and I couldn't catch my breath.  I think I had to sit down for a minute or maybe an hour.

A couple of months before, the global pandemic that was COVID-19 had just started impacting the U.S.  State governments started restricting our movement and businesses were shuttered.  We still didn't know what the scope was of the virus or how to prevent it or treat it.  It was a very scary time, and a lot of small business owners were really worried.

One of those small business owners happened to be a friend of mine.  She makes saddle bags for trail and endurance riders.  Really well-made, high quality bags.  I had wanted to order one for awhile, but hadn't been able to justify buying a new bag while the one I had was perfectly serviceable.  But over the winter, I discovered that mice had used my bag as nesting material, so I needed a new one.  And when my friend put out the message that her orders had dried up because people were drastically reducing their spending on anything that wasn't toilet paper, paper towels, or hand sanitizer, I felt like I could finally do something to help someone in a world where everything seemed out of my control.

So I sent her a message and we worked out what bag I would get and the color.  It would still take her some time to make the bag because she had some outstanding orders to fill, but that was no big deal.  I wasn't doing any trail riding at the time because no one was going anywhere.  But I was hopeful that I would be able to use the bag not just for trail rides but maybe even for an endurance ride once the craziness from the virus died down, because it had to be temporary, right?

Once I placed the order, I kind of forgot about the bag.  I was focused on all the things that parents everywhere were focused on - getting food, finding basic supplies for living, educating my child, preserving my sanity, and engaging in some kind of activities.  Through some miracle, I had had the opportunity to start leasing a pony for my daughter literally days before the state basically shut down.  It meant that I could continue to bring her to the barn with me and that we could still get outside and do something while so many people were basically restricted to their homes.

So we rode.  We rode several times a week.  Sometimes we worked in the arena and sometimes we rode around the farm where the horses were.  Looking back, it was easily one of the best times in my life.  (At the time, a lot of people were very opposed to people riding their horses or even going to see their horses, and many barns in my area and surrounding states closed their doors to boarders.  While a part of me can understand that viewpoint, given what happened to Nimo and the joy I had riding with my daughter, I hope that my perspective can be understood too.)

It was so funny to watch us ride together.  Because the pony that I was leasing for Gemma was very small - just over 11 hands, I think.  And Nimo was so big at 17 hands.  But that little pony followed Nimo all around the farm.  She followed him through tall grass and mud and out on the trails in the woods.  She had been a show pony, so I don't know how much experience she'd had with being outside the arena.  Her temperament was so good, though, that she willingly went all over the farm. 

 We got into a really good routine.  Without all the other extraneous stuff going on, we could focus on riding, and I started to have hope that Nimo would be ready to go back out and do some legitimate trail riding once the restrictions were lifted.

But, of course, that isn't what happened.  The journey I shared with Nimo can be found on my other blog, The Journey to 100 Miles.  And the story of the final days of his life can be found here: http://fit2continue.blogspot.com/2020/05/the-day-i-didnt-go-to-barn.html.  I can't write about it in detail again.

After his death, I was in a pretty dark place.  And the day that package arrived was just six days later.  Inside the package was the custom pommel bag I had ordered from my friend many weeks before, when I still had hope that the COVID-19 restrictions were just temporary and that Nimo and I would be out on the trails training for another endurance ride.

I forced myself to open the package and look at the bag.  It was perfect, just what I'd ordered.  And everything that I lost hit me all over again.  And again.  And again.  Over and over.  It was this overwhelming grief that wouldn't end.

I finally realized that I would need to let my friend know the bag had arrived and that I was happy with it.  She didn't know what happened to Nimo.  Very few people outside the barn where I boarded Nimo did.  I hadn't posted anything on social media or even written the post for my blog yet.  I simply could not do it.  The biggest reason was not that it was too painful to write the words, although that was certainly part of it.  Rather it was because I could not bear to hear or read expressions of sympathy from anyone who didn't know Nimo.  I have plenty of friends from different times of my life or even different parts of my life and they had never met him, although I'm sure they knew of him from conversations or posts on Facebook.  But they didn't know him.  And they would say they were sorry for my loss, but they wouldn't have the faintest idea just how intense that loss was.  I'm sure everyone who has lost a loved one has the sense that their grief is unique, and now that I am months down the road of feeling that grief, I can see that.  But right then I couldn't.

As I went through my journey with Nimo, I started realizing that knowing the basics of horse care and training was not enough for me anymore.  Particularly when we started training for endurance riding, I learned there was a whole other world out there with respect to the environment the horse is kept in, nutrition and feeding protocols, hoof care, medical care, fitness, training, and tack use and fit.  The more I learned, the more I realized how much I didn't know or understand.  I kept digging and uncovering more perspectives, more research, more ideas.  As soon as I would think I understood something, I would learn something new that made me think  I was wrong or that there was more I needed to know.  At some point I figured out that there would never be an end for me.  I would always want to know more and then take that knowledge and do something with it.

And I arrogantly thought Nimo would be with me through all of it.  Even though a part of me recognized that horses don't live forever, I somehow thought that because Nimo was so special he would be exempt from the laws that govern life.  That he would set some kind of record for the longest-lived Friesian.  Plus, I had dedicated my life to giving him the best care I could, even to the point of learning how to trim his huge, rock-hard hooves myself because I began to understand that the farriers I was using were not trimming them appropriately.  I developed a new turn-out plan for him that was different than what other horses had at the barn so that he could have more time outside to be a horse.  I experimented with his food to find something that seemed to work best for him.  I played around with tack, trying different bits and hackamores and saddles and saddle pads, looking for Nimo to tell me what he preferred.  I tried different conditioning plans and schooling exercises, and I even completely changed the way I rode so that I could be the most balanced and educated rider I could be.  

Surely with all of that effort and dedication, my horse would live forever.

But he didn't.  He died.  Not only did he die, but he died in great pain and I couldn't even be with him at the end because of the COVID-19 restrictions.  If there was ever a horse that deserved a good, long life with a peaceful end, it was Nimo.  I felt like I failed him to the nth degree.  I looked around at other people I knew with horses.  They didn't know half of what I knew, and they were perfectly happy that way.  They didn't even want to know more.  They were content with their lives with their horses.  They didn't want to be better riders or better handlers or improve their horse's nutrition or fitness because they already felt like they were on the right path.  And those horses were doing just fine.  So what good was all my knowledge if it didn't help my horse?  In fact, maybe if he'd lived with someone else, someone who wasn't constantly experimenting and trying to do more, he would still be alive.

When that package came, that was where I was.  And that was where I stayed for a while.  Weeks.  And if I'm honest, maybe I'm still there to some degree.

But something completely unexpected happened because of that package.  I'll tell you about it in my next post...