Monday, January 09, 2012

I wish she would just go ahead and cry

My daughter, L, is one of the strongest people I know.  She has a positive spirit and a fearless attitude.  I've written about her, and my admiration of her personality and strength, many times.  And trust me, I am not writing this as a parent with their chest filled with pride saying, "Yep, that's my girl!", as if I had some hand in her being this person that she is.  However, I am, in fact, writing this as a mother that is filled with awe at a girl that is so much more than I could ever teach her to be and has all of these amazing qualities despite me.  She is so much stronger than I ever could be.

But even those that seem so very tough, sometimes aren't.

Friday evening Steven noticed that L's horse Weston was standing by the fence behind the house.  He didn't think much about it until Saturday morning when Weston was still there.  In the same space.  Walking in circles.

As Steven went out to assess the situation he noticed that Weston's eye didn't look right and had some drainage.

Worse, however, was the fact that Weston went berserk when Steven would even try to approach him, resulting in him running through the chicken house wire and cutting his front tendon on his back leg.

Steven knew that this was NOT normal for our daughter's horse and had a friend assist him in getting her horse into the pen.

It wasn't an easy task and when the vet arrived he all but confirmed what we already knew.

This was bad.

Very bad.

In fact, by his judgement, Weston has an infection that has spread to his brain.  The outlook isn't good.

However, the never-say-die spirit that my daughter has, was handed down to her from her father and in that same spirit he decided to do what he could.  And all that he can.

So, an antibiotic shot was given, along with instructions for one shot a day for 5 days as well as two pills a day for  5 days.  The vet looked at me and shook his head and said, "there really isn't anything that can be done".

I know that he thought the meds were in vain, but my husband, who I am certain was haunted by the thought of his daughter losing her biggest love, HAD to try.

And so, since Saturday we have been giving meds to a horse that isn't showing any signs of recovery.  Steven feels compelled to do all he can and hope for the best.


Sunday morning L drew a picture of Weston in the pen with her pony, Peanut, looking on.  Above the clouds was the word "HOPE".

And although I am a big fan of hope, I am also a realist.  I don't want to set her up for disappointment and I feel as if I need to be honest.

As I relayed the grim outlook to her after the vet left on Saturday, she looked at me and said, "could he die?"  I nodded my head, "yes".  Her eyes got misty and her lip trembled only slightly before she bit the corner, shook it off and said with firm resolve, "If this medicine doesn't work, I will just call another vet."

It was as if it was the end of the story and the discussion was closed.

She had decided that Weston would live.

I wish it were that easy. 

I wish that she would  just go ahead and cry and let me hold her and kiss her head and let her know that I am sharing in her heartbreak. 

But she wants to be tough.

And it makes the pictures, and the questions all that much harder.

I wish she would just go ahead and cry.

The praying and the asking God to work a miracle and B nodding in agreement that God does do miracles "especially on Sundays" is wearing away at my weak resolve, and it isn't even my horse.  I DO believe in miracles, but....

I wish she would just go ahead and cry.

I don't know how to tell this girl that refuses to give up that she just might have to.   And I don't know how to respond when she says, "I would give any thing I have away for Weston to be better".  Truthfully, I am not sure I even could respond over the aching lump in my throat.

I wish she would just go ahead and cry.

But since she won't, I will cry for her.


Bek said...

Well, if it makes the situation any better (and I know it doesn't), I have cried for both of you. I'm sorry. I'm so, so, so sorry that your daughter, you, your family must endure this hardship and this difficult process of saying "goodbye" while holding on so tightly.

Strength is a trait that develops with life experiences,and vulnerability is, too. Maybe it's these experiences in life that will teach her that vulnerability is not necessarily a weakness. It's OK to cry, to grieve, to hurt, to ache...and it's OK to let others be strong for us in those moments. Strength seems to have come easily for L. Vulnerability might be the hardest lesson to learn. I'm glad she has a mom who is so in tune to her needs, who can see the pain hidden behind the determination. She is blessed.

Manda said...

this is awful;( im so sorry for all of you. i wish i could give words of hope, but it sounds like you will just need prayers to get through the loss of weston, which i will do.