My sweet Athena,
Last night I had to say goodbye. My heart is heavy, yet full, because of all the ways you loved and taught me. You carried such presence and grace, even though your path wasn’t always easy. Anxiety often weighed on you, and the horse trailer became your greatest enemy — you would injure yourself. I would ask her, “What happened?” and she would turn, eyes steady, and stare at the trailer, as if to say, “That’s the thing that hurt me.” She was always honest like that, speaking her truth in the way only horses can, she never hid her truth from me.
Not long after you came into my life, you visited me in a dream. You told me you just wanted to be a mama. I heard you, and I honored that truth. You did get to be a mother, and in your own beautiful way, you carried that tenderness into everything you did. Later, you returned the gift by becoming a steady, patient mount for my lesson students — even doting on the littlest ones, the four-year-olds, with a gentleness that showed your true heart.
When our time together came to an end, I was able to do my grief work with you. I spoke my Gestalt statements of grief, giving voice to the weight I carried. You let me place my face in your fuzzy, warm ears, soaking in the comfort I will never forget. And then, in one of the most sacred moments of my life, you pressed your head into my heart chakra and just held it there. It was as if your soul said, “I know. I feel it too. And we can let go together.”
Athena, thank you. Thank you for teaching me truth, for showing me the power of dreams, for allowing me to practice the hardest but most important work of grief. Your spirit will forever run free across the pastures of my heart.
Run free, my beautiful mare. You will always be remembered. You will always be loved.
My heart and soul are on fire.
Because of you.
– Marsha
