The weight of heartbeats

Summary

The author reflects on the profound responsibility and trust associated with caring for various living beings, including pets, horses, family, and the hope of leaving a lasting legacy for her grandsons.

Abstract

The article titled "The weight of heartbeats" delves into the author's life, filled with the responsibility of nurturing and caring for two feral cats, two rescued mutts, two mustangs, her husband of many years, her sons, and her grandsons. Each of these relationships is characterized by a deep sense of trust, with the animals and humans alike depending on the author's unwavering presence and care. The author is acutely aware of the rhythm of life that beats within her, acknowledging the weight of her commitments while also recognizing the need to remain steadfast and youthful in spirit. Despite the challenges and the fast-paced heartbeat that sometimes forgets the rhythm of life, the author embraces the duty to shelter, nourish, guide, and love, ensuring that she will not leave those who trust her.

Opinions

The author feels a strong sense of duty to provide safety and care for her pets, who have come to trust her completely.
She acknowledges the emotional and physical needs of her animals, recognizing their past traumas and their current reliance on her for guidance and companionship.
The mustangs, in particular, represent a connection to the wild and the responsibility of teaching them to accept and seek human partnership.
The author's relationship with her husband is built on a long history of mutual support and trust, emphasizing the depth of their bond.
She expresses a profound hope for her sons' independence and success, wanting them to "fly" with her love and respect as a constant presence in their lives.
The author places significant importance on the memories and experiences she shares with her grandsons, aiming to leave a meaningful and lasting impression on their lives.
Despite the physical and emotional demands of her responsibilities, the author is determined to fulfill her role, suggesting that aging is not an excuse to abandon her commitments.

With love comes responsibilities: to shelter, to nourish body and soul, to guide

Photo courtesy of the author

They trust that I won’t leave them.

Sometimes my heart beats too fast and forgets the rhythm of life. But I can’t be old. I still bear the weight of heartbeats.

Post-feral cats: Two. Twined around my legs. Predators. Free to sleep on fuzzy perches in a tack room above their kibble and their daily catch, safe.

They trust that I won’t leave them.

Rescued mutts: Two. One from mental trauma, one from physical. Adventurers. Leaping, streaking up and down the gullies and slopes of acres of dog-fenced terrain. Fed, brushed, trained, hiking partners, sleeping buddies, pushed against my legs for attention.

They trust that I won’t leave them.

Mustangs: Two. A wild-born steed from the high Ponderosa forests and pinyon-sage dotted drylands adjoining the Jicarilla Apache Reservation of northern New Mexico. Reactive, vigilant, self-reliant yet insecure.

A captive born colt from a wild filly who, still a babe herself, sacrificed sprung ribs and muscle starved frame to give birth in the rock walled desert of McElmo Canyon, Southwest Colorado, bred by a stallion from the Ute Mountain Ute Reservation who may have been her brother or her cousin. The colt confident yet reliant on the human he has known since birth.

Travelers. Sheltered, fed, brushed, cleaned, and most importantly taught to accept and even seek a partnership with me.

They trust that I won’t leave them.

My husband, my partner in work and play for 46 years, my friend and classmate for 49. The father of my sons.

He trusts that I won’t leave him.

My sons, spread so far apart, from me and from each other. They must trust that I won’t leave them at least in spirit, because all that they have been, are now, and will be, I love and respect and encourage. I hope that they can fly.

And lastly, my grandsons, those little minds and bodies soaking up the world in a much more complex time. I can only hope that they will remember a hug, a laugh, a story, a hike, a lesson in horseback riding or archery. I hope that they will always know that I loved them. Their sense of me is my memorial.

Sometimes my heart beats too fast and forgets the rhythm of life. But I can’t be old.

Not yet.