In the process of cleaning out my office, file cabinet, etc., I came upon my daughter Laura's most recently published article. It told of her long, close relationship to Borax, her faithful polo pony; his productive, well-cared for life; his death at age 29.
My husband and I were present when he was put down, along with Laura's husband Mat and her vet. We watched our daughter's grief and love as she stood in front of Borax, eyes locked on his, after the injection. She said she wanted to be the last thing he saw and she wanted him to be able to run again. Most of all, she wanted to end his suffering and inability to live in any real way.
I had no idea how much I, too loved Borax,"leader of the herd," until I felt my own grief and tears joining hers.
I think writing is like that. A mysterious process that joins your heart to others--sometimes forever.