Phoebe Kate

Yesterday, when the race horse George Washington suffered a fatal injury in the Breeders Cup Classic, I totally lost it.

I started crying and couldn’t stop.  I cried through the remaining 20 minutes of the ESPN broadcast.  I cried while I put dinner on to cook.  I went and sat on my porch and smoked cigarettes and cried.  I cried for over 2 hours nonstop. At one point, I wondered if I’d lost my mind, was having a nervous breakdown and would have to take myself downtown and commit myself to the dreaded fourth floor of our local hospital.  I mean, after all, this was a horse I was only casually familiar with — it wasn’t Barbaro.  At one point, my husband came out and asked me if I was okay.  I said, “No, but there’s nothing you can do about it.”  He understood. 

And then, when I was all cried out, I realized what had happened to me.

When my mother died after a catastrophic illness in 1977, I didn’t cry.  I had to be strong for the rest of the family.  When I had three miscarriages in the 1980s, I didn’t cry.  Life had to go on.  I had my other children to care for. When I found out I had cancer in 1990s, I didn’t cry.  I had people depending on me to be brave. When my father died in 2000, I didn’t cry.  I had too many arrangements to make, too many things to do.  On 9/11, I didn’t cry.  I just sat in horror and watched the TV and felt sick to my stomach as I realized the world and our country had been changed forever and not for the better.

I haven’t cried in the last 30 years over anything.  I’ve lost family and beloved pets, witnessed tragedies, personal and otherwise, had 4 bouts with cancer and just kept on going like the Ever-Ready Battery Bunny.

The sad demise this Saturday of a race horse I barely knew was my catharsis.  

And now you know more about me than you probably ever wanted to know.  But isn’t that what blogs are all about?

–phoebe kate