Kristine E. Brickey

 *I wrote this piece last Thursday during one of my writing groups as I pondered the end of my journey with my Mesa Blue. She seems to have found a better place for her, but as I wrote to the 'What are you thinking about today' prompt, I couldn't help but remember and hope for her future.      This morning I’ve been thinking about the drive I have tomorrow to take Mesa to Kentucky. I pray for an uneventful 7 hours there and another 7 home. I’ve been imagining myself in the darkness of the really early morning, loading her up, and heading away from Mason with Mesa. She was supposed to be my forever horse, my easy, short, dark, and dependable horse after the troubles and heartache of losing my sweet, monster sized Snickers. I’ve been thinking about how in many ways Mesa was exactly what I hoped for: easy to load, to haul, to unload; easy for the vet and mostly quiet for the farrier; and in the beginning, so damn great out on the trails.        ...

      Something that wasn’t cancelled, she prompted, and the one thing that is boldfaced in my mind is the living entity of Grief. In fact, as each event, each portion of my social and author related life fell off the rails, Grief grew in proportion to everyday moments. It multiplied exponentially, fueled by the erosion of cancellations. No CrossFit. No counseling. No massage therapy. No chiropractor. No Sozo, school visits, F440, RCWP sponsored Bay retreats/workshops/marathons. No week in New Orleans, wandering with dear friends and fellow writers seemingly aimlessly through the French Quarter, notebooks in hand, decadent food in bellies and music in our hearts.       But Grief, oh, the monster that is Grief breathed deeply of all I was losing, savored the weight of loss that settled heavily upon my shoulders and heart, and laughed an evil cacophony as my physical, mental, and emotional well-being faded with each passing day.      Yet, ...