Paso Fino

Facebook reminded me this morning that I posted in 2014 about the sudden death of Sarah’s beloved therapy horse, Bo. She had been going to weekly therapeutic riding sessions on Bo, a retired Paso Fino show horse who had been donated to the stable to work with special needs kids. He was a sweet, elderly horse with a kind of natural dancing, gliding gait that made Sarah very comfortable on his back, with the support of a bolster and “sidewalkers” to make sure she did not fall off. During her first ever horse show at the facility, she and Bo won two blue ribbons together. She had a “Bo” stuffed horse at home and several Bo-themed horse clothing ensembles.

Bo was a senior citizen and one evening the stable manager sent out an email to all families that began ‘It is with a heavy heart…” and informed us that Bo had experienced severe horse colic and the decision was made with the veterinarian to end his suffering. There were several parents of Bo fans, including me, who emailed each other and wondered how we could ever break the news of his death to our children.

We introduced Sarah to the idea that Bo had spoken to his friends Elmo (a quarter horse) and Finn (a Norwegian Fjord pony) about her and instructed them in her needs and requirements. They were ready to take over and looking forward to meeting her. She ended up riding Elmo very happily for several more years and collected even more Elmo chachkies.

I’m not sure that Sarah completely understood about death, but then, what child does until they are fully mature? Sarah lost several friends in childhood who were also ill from life-limiting diseases; her friend Chrissy from Giant Axonal Neuropathy when they were both 10, and also at age 10 her buddy Gabby from complications of cerebral palsy, and her friend Leo at dance class when she was 12 from complications of Down Syndrome. 10 was just a hard year for these incidents, looking back. We had owned a second beagle, Harry, whom we all loved very much and who was closely bonded with Sarah. Suddenly he developed canine lymphoma, and was dead within three weeks.

I remember Max and I went with Harry to the vet during the school day, because he had reached a crisis point and needed euthanasia, and so Harry wasn’t home to meet the school bus or greet Sarah when she got home. She knew he was sick of course, and we told her he couldn’t go on any longer and he had died at the vet’s office.

I remember she just searched our faces, and for a minute she gave a big smile, like “This is a joke, right? Get to the funny part. Get to the part where Harry comes running out.” We had to tell her “Honey, we’re not joking, we’re serious. Harry is dead” Then she cried.

This all still feels like a bad joke to me too, like I can’t wait to get to the funny part, or the part where Sarah pops out and surprises me. I still keep hearing Max’s voice on my phone crying and saying “Sarah…passed away” and my thinking “That’s ridiculous” and I want to live in that moment of scorn, forever and ever.