Summary

A father recounts a day at the stables where his daughter learns of the passing of their horse Ganda, leading to a discussion about emotional strength and the processing of grief.

Abstract

The narrative describes a typical Friday at the stables for the author and his daughter, who is an avid horse rider. Their routine is disrupted by the sudden death of their beloved horse, Ganda. The daughter's emotional response to Ganda's passing prompts a conversation about the nature of strength and weakness in relation to expressing emotions, particularly in the face of loss. The father uses the opportunity to teach his daughter that emotional expression is not a sign of weakness and that everyone processes grief differently. Despite the sad event, the day concludes with the daughter reflecting on the unique personality of Ganda and the father reinforcing the value of emotional honesty.

Opinions

The author believes that emotional expression is a natural and important part of being human, especially when dealing with grief.
He implies that strength is not about suppressing emotions but rather about acknowledging and processing them healthily.
The author suggests that societal expectations or peer comments about emotional expression can be misguided, particularly when they label showing emotions as weakness.
He values the growth and personal development that his daughter has experienced through her interactions with horses and the equestrian community.
The author sees the experience of loss as an opportunity for teaching and bonding with his daughter, emphasizing the importance of empathy and understanding in processing emotions.
He acknowledges that different people have different ways of coping with sadness, and there is no one "right" way to grieve.

Death At The Stables

And A Surprising Revelation After

In Loving Memory Of Ganda. You Will Be Missed. Image Generated By MidJourney.

Dressage! Training! Medals!

Just kidding about the part of the medal.

It's about the discipline, determination, and hard work that matters at the end, isn’t it?

[and maybe a bit of the medal too. Hey, recognition is a thing, right?]

And so, with the dressage upon us, we’ve been making a few extra practice runs leading up to the event. It's also a pleasant positive for us that our cub enjoys riding so much that it doesn’t feel like an exercise to her. She looks forward to her weekly sessions with gusto.

We pulled up early to the stables yesterday as usual. Being a Friday afternoon there was a bigger routine of riders that day; she enjoys mingling with both humans and horses before classes.

The trips to the stables have been a rewarding journey; from the many episodes we’ve had in our 4-year journey (halted midway by COVID-19, but thankfully resumed without many hiccups), there were as many trials and lessons we’ve learned from each other. A father-daughter trial-and-error thing.

And she’s grown up in her horse-loving fashion in these 4 years — from a shy, reserved character, to one more chatty and sociable. That’s a small win in my book.

After registering and messing around the stables for a bit, I glanced at the time and realized her classes were due to begin in 5 minutes but her coach was nowhere to be seen.

I called her to join me as we walked to the cabin where the coaches usually hung out. As we approached, Buddy the husky came running to us for his customary belly rubs. After 500 rubs and 3 hours later, he left us fully satisfied and searching for his next victim.

That’s when my cub got up and turned the corner towards the cabin … and froze. I looked at her apprehensively. She slowly turned to face me and beckoned me to approach her.

That’s when I saw her. Ganda. Laying still in front of the washing stalls.

She lay there. Lifeless.

When we finally remembered to breathe again, one of the coaches walked up to us. Dul is one of the youngest chaps in the stables, and his usually cheery deposition was missing.

“Ganda passed away bro.” he greeted us.

“What happened?”

“She was not feeling well for the past few days. She was running a high fever this morning. Then she suddenly collapsed.”

That’s when I noticed the tears running down your face. I stopped the questions so that you won’t become more upset. I let your tears run freely without saying a word; feeling that it was important to let your emotions release.

You calmed down after a bit and soon led Destiny out to the main arena to begin your practice; puffy eyes and all. Coach Roma put you through your paces and the rest of the day was rather uneventful; compared to what had transpired just before.

On the journey back home, you were mostly silent until you suddenly told me “Coach Roma teased me just now.”

“Oh really? What did he say?”

“He asked me to concentrate on riding first, don’t cry so much during the ride…I wasn’t crying but my eyes were itchy,” she explained.

And then she said it.

“Why was I the only one to cry upon hearing about Ganda’s death? There were a few other riders who found out about her at the same time we did, but I was the only one who cried.”

She added softly: “I must have been too weak…”

Interesting choice of word, I thought.

“Weak? Why would you think that showing your emotion was being weak?” I asked her.

She shrugged and was struggling for an answer for a bit. “Maybe its what a school friend had said earlier that week — she mentioned that of all the classmates, she’s not seen me cry in school before.”

Well, sweetie… showing your emotions has nothing to do with weakness or strength. We’re all emotional creatures and sometimes certain events would overwhelm us.

You took that answer in; still looking out the window silently.

People also process grief and sadness differently; some will begin crying (as you did) and there might be others afraid to face that emotion head-on and instead turn to humor, just to soften the pain.

Just because the emotions are different, doesn’t mean that the pain isn’t real, you know?

“Yeah … I guess so.”

“I’ll miss Ganda. She was quite a character, wasn’t she?”

Yes, she was, my cub. Yes indeed.