Merlin 25

I am troubled by a series of video clips I took with my cell phone years ago. The clips are of a song written for one of my beloved angel horses, Merlin.  He was the first horse who rescued me, and the first I would lose.  His loss was excruciatingly painful because I had to make the decision to let him go or suffer and force him to fight the over-stacked odds.  Merlin had foundered, dropped, and rotated in two coffin bones. He could live, but not without agonizing pain that would only delay his need for release so I could adjust emotionally to the inevitable outcome.  I could not do that to him, because, the reason he had foundered and would die was due to human error caused by humans I trusted.

Merlin died in my arms and I kissed his nose over and over again until his breath had faded and was gone.  The last look he gave me when he realized I had chosen against his will to fight will be the price I paid for loving him so hard.  He asked me, “why?”with those big brown eyes.


I remember the long drive home without Merlin in the world.  The silence in the car as Jeff drove, broken only by my sobs that would turn me inside out. It was late in the day and the shadows began taking the light and I wept for three days straight.

But if you played this song for me I would have not believed that I wrote it. Not because it is that good or even that long ago — I wrote it in 2013.   I would not believe you because all memory of this song is gone — something I find wholly unfair because the pain of losing a friend is still fresh.

Deficits created by neurological disease has caused changes in my vision, balance, hearing, and my gait. I have a hard time grasping and holding; walking, and sometimes even talking. I have tremors and convulsions.  As my bones and body give way and break down the physical pain demands attention and effort to even tie my shoes or brush my hair.  Sleep disturbances rocket my brain into mania and then things really get weird.

But I deal with these things as my new normal because I remember these things — the things that are eating my brain and stealing my memories.

Merlin 25 was the name of the file.  There were 24 others just like it, all named Merlin, with a number beginning with the numeral one.

I really wanted to remember this song.  I clearly was afraid I would forget it.  So I sat for who knows how long and played it 25 times in one day and recording each one as a separate file.  I have no idea why I did that.

Clearly, I wanted to remember that song.

I got sick in 2012.  It is 2018 and I am never getting better.  I don’t think I mind that so much, if this is my journey, but I would at least like to remember it.  The good, the bad, the all of it.  The Merlin 1, Merlin 2, Merlin…..25.   I deserve to at least remember the good with the bad.