It is almost two moons since you left this realm Marcus – and I miss you with an intensity that matches the energy building to the total lunar eclipse about to occur when the Moon waxes full in Aquarius.
Ah grief, at first we are plunged into the numbing depths as all slows down and we struggle to absorb the reality. Then we are awash in the raging waters which threaten to drown us as we are pulled under, and the weight of the water beckons us to succumb, so we can slipstream the one we loved beyond the veil, where we know pain will cease. Then there is momentary release and we bob up to the surface, inhale sweet air and feel the warmth of the Sun and the bright glow of memories, before the cold water dilutes the colour and swirls around our nostrils and eyes, merging with tears, swopping sweet for salt, and slowly sucking us back down into the darkened depths. Grief is not an easy emotional journey. We do our best to numb ourselves, to shore up against it, to stuff it down. However we must feel it, we must honour it, for if we do not meet grief with open embrace, then we will suffer more greatly, for longer, often causing others to suffer alongside. I have journeyed with grief many times and each journey unfolds uniquely, offering different insights, when we can open to them, when we can face it; when we can stop being busy, stop avoiding, stop numbing. In recent weeks, I have been grateful for distractions and busy-ness but now I am fully feeling and acknowledging the anger, frustration, guilt and other emotions grief can evoke.
I am watching Marcus’s herd mate, and special friend, Jaz, grieve deeply too. At first she was just quiet, then became deeply depressed, refusing to eat, her insulin levels became chaotic and she went into metabolic imbalance and suffered terrible laminitis in all four hooves. An insulin resistant, recently diagnosed with PPID, Equine Cushing’s disease, this little part Welsh pony struggled to cope with the loss of her best friend, mentor and the crippling conditions that beset her still young body. Her head hung low, her eyes were dull, the light extinguished from the pony that “brings the cake to the party” as one connection put it. She was joy; feisty, unbridled joy; she was the archetypal Divine Child within – but not without her Magician, her Dreamer. For now, she has chosen to live.
I called Marcus the Magic Man because that’s what he inspired, what he seemed. Curious, incredibly smart, always acutely aware of what was happening around him, seen and unseen, he seemed to be a mind reader – and an alchemist, always able to provoke a lightening, a release, to inspire change, to play. He was at the start of many Hero’s journeys. He wove his magic, cast his spell and enchanted all who met him. Unforgettable, irrepressible, irreplaceable. I knew you would leave a huge chasm Marcus, but I am only now realising just how important you were to our little herd; the three horses and me who were colleagues in equine facilitated learning and coaching: a powerful, amazing team as one client put it. The Joker, Magician, Trickster, Mercury…..Prince of Ponies …in so many ways you were our lodestone.
Marcus, “Man of the Match”, touched many people in his first career as champion show pony with fabulous flair, attention grabbing looks and magnificent paces. He was magnetic and people gravitated toward him. He loved attention, being at the centre of things; demanded it in fact. He had a penchant for this from birth, having to be helped out of his struggling and tiring maiden mother only to slip into the river forming down the slope of his paddock on a wet October morning following torrential rain, to be saved by Amanda, daughter of his breeder, Vicki, and who would partner him to so many championships. Even as a foal he was independent and curious, choosing to roam around the property seeking out the other horses and attention of the human inhabitants, rather than obediently or timidly following his Mum. He believed he was half human I am sure which makes his second career as a Wounded Healer, so apt. Chiron, the Centaur and archetypal Wounded Healer created the healing arts and guides all of us called to partner with horses to help humans heal.
Having twice retired due to founder, a crippling condition affecting a horse’s hoof, Marcus found his way to me. I knew him and knew he would relish this work – and he did; he excelled at it and was totally in his element being at complete liberty to choose with whom, and how, he would interact. His talents blossomed and he showed new traits continually, often surprising me. I learned of course to trust his judgement, his ability, and his choices.
Through all this time he was the most wonderful, constant companion to Jaz. They were so good together; amazing team of opposites in many ways; yin and yang; complementary – and together, complete. Together with Thomas and me; a multi-faceted team. My family and my colleagues.
In later years, Marcus developed PPID, Equine Cushing’s, which sadly Jaz now has too. His experience with this condition was quite different to hers; he was light, always tricky to keep weight on; not as sensitive to grass as not insulin resistant, and fared well on the medication. He did struggle with laminitis occasionally, but mostly was happy, though thin soled, and, on good ground, loved to trot and canter, showing off those eye-catching strides of his early career. He loved to play with Jaz, especially just before dinner – frolicking, bucking, rearing; joyful, free, carefree. He loved to interact with all the other horses and humans on the property; always curious, always wanting to be involved; always alert and aware of what was happening.
He knew how to push my buttons; he always called me to account if he felt I needed a lesson; a reminder to be present and mindful (yes even the badly sprained and hairline fractured wrist was a gift Marky!) or a call to grow, to stretch my learning edge. He was exasperating at times; funny, courageous, charming, clever, cuddly, curious, challenging, entertaining, adorable, wise, warm, amazing. I could go on; one thing he never was: boring. Marcus liked lively: he loved life; he lived his well and to the limit. I am so grateful he shared a large part of it with me.
I wish he had lived longer, but in the last few months he was struggling: the years with Cushing’s taking their toll; his long compromised hooves, despite the best of care, regular trimming and excellent nutrition, started to crumble; the pedal bone of his near fore decaying. His body told the story of the price he paid in his determination to continue to live; tight muscles and compensating postures. He had regular bodywork, acupressure, crystal and oil interventions as well as energy healing from me – and deeper work from professionals at times. He loved the attention.
Caring for Marcus in the last months took increasing effort and I learned all went more smoothly for him if we did things in his time. Giving him regular treatments and attention were like punctuation marks in my day. As it became clear we were in palliative care and I planned, and discussed with him, his death, his light burned brighter, determined to live every moment until the end. Steadily I increased his daily treats and he whinnied every time he saw me, calling for another – or some more attention or healing touch. I invited some of the people who were most important and special to him to visit and say goodbye and he revelled in this, gifting each of them the clarity of his gaze, the vibrancy in his heart; his ever youthful Peter Pan spirit still so strong it belied his suffering. Are you sure people asked? Yes. And so is he. I had sought guidance from my spirit guides as well as professionals of course. And Marcus told me too; it is time, I am ready.
In his last week I spent a lot of time in the paddock with him. He was laying down a lot then, though still happily mooching round the paddock. I often lay down with him and have such sweet memories of lying on damp, dew-kissed grass, soaking in the warmth of the autumn sun, with his head laid on my belly, stroking his soft, shining neck. We listened to the birds, enjoyed the caress of light breezes and shared heart space and breath. Special, such a gift. Such a privilege to care for this dear friend whose presence enriched my life, my work, my heart and my soul. It was my privilege and duty to ensure he had a good death.
The night before his scheduled euthanasia, I spent a long time under the stars with the herd, sitting with Marcus. We looked at Mars, even closer to Earth now, the almost full Moon, Venus, the Milky Way, the Southern Cross and I told him to be sure to visit me, that I knew we would always be connected and be able to communicate whenever we wanted, and that I would watch for him striding across the stars.
The next morning his breakfast was laden with all the sweet treats so long denied him because of his laminitis. He relished his meal. He knew it was his last. The herd all knew: they had been well prepared. Marcus had been fed wherever he chose in the last weeks – and often started his meal lying down, getting up towards the end. Jaz, who had disengaged herself from him for a few days, in denial perhaps or in a futile attempt to protect herself just as we do, had, in the last few days, been shadowing Marcus again. She gave him space today. He had essential oils, acupressure, grooming, healing touch and lots of treats. Even with the amount of painkiller I had been giving him to make his last days comfortable, it was clear that the time was right, that he had risen to the occasion but the effort was unsustainable. It was perfect timing and his release was calm, swift and dignified. I will be eternally grateful to those that supported me that day, once I had completed the most important job of supporting him – and of course Jaz and Thomas.
I realised in the ensuing days how much my life had been dominated by caring for Marcus – I felt cut adrift, almost untethered by the space, the emptiness. I imagine that is how caregivers feel when they lose the person they have cared for, how my father must have felt when my mother died after a long illness when his life was determined by her needs and visiting hours. That sudden freedom is unnerving and, at first, unwelcome. I was grateful for Jaz and Thomas and the need to physically care for them which kept me grounded. Grateful too for the wonderful signs and messages in Nature from Marcus, and the visit from him in the Dreamtime, on the third night after his passing. Grateful for Marcus’s messages to others and grateful for the kindness, thoughtful, practical gifts, support and messages sent to me by friends and family.
Marcus was cremated. I have some of his ashes in a small wooden box in my bedroom. For about 10 days the large box with the rest of his ashes sat in the living area; he would have loved being in the house! We scattered his ashes at his birthplace, where Vicki and Amanda still live. He approved.
“Now cracks a noble heart. Goodnight sweet prince; and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.” (William Shakespeare – Hamlet)