I miss him, savagely, all the time.  Some days more than others.  If I’m already feeling a bit low - memories of him can crush me to a pile of wet rubble.

"When I married Toby I managed to snaffle his best horse, Warrior. Warrior is my horse of a lifetime, one of the lights of my life. He is arguably one of the best (horses) in England and although I cannot believe my good fortune, I thank my lucky star for him every time I sit upon his back. He just loves the job. Woz and I have that wonderful bond that I only dreamed of until I found him. He’s a total numpty at home, spooky and silly to the extreme, but when hounds are running he will stay with them whatever gets in the way, be it a six-bar metal hanging gate onto a road or a seven-foot boundary hedge of blackthorn and a river behind; I trust him implicitly to keep me safe. He has ditched me a few times but always at home and normally when colourful poles are involved.”

I just read this excerpt I wrote for The Field Magazine years ago.  Warrior has been dead for almost two years and he still has the ability to make me howl.  I miss him, savagely, all the time.  Some days more than others.  If I’m already feeling a bit low - memories of him can crush me to a pile of wet rubble.  I have to, sternly, remind myself that 'Grief is the price we pay for love.' Thank you - wise words from our beloved late Queen.  It doesn’t always help though.  Goodness, I miss him. It still takes the wind out of me.

I always knew I’d find it almost unbearable.  Being in a world where he was not.  I tried to prepare myself for losing him.  I found him when he was ten.  I had ten wonderful, spine-tingling, soul-melting, starry-eyed years with him.  But I knew that one day, if I managed not to break my neck, I would outlive him.  The thought of it, even before he died, could make me burst into wracking sobs.  And nothing prepared me for losing him.  Nothing.  I don’t think I will ever get over the loss of him.

But I can look back now, and be grateful.  What a horse.

My grandfather would quote The Aeneid to me.  Off by heart.  Reams of it in fluent Latin.  When I was going through a time of great difficulty, he even had Virgil’s immortal line forsan et haec olim meminisse iuvabit inscribed on a silver bracelet for me.

It does seem to help.  Finally.  I can look back at those days and smile.