We just lost Freda. The sun sank a little in the sky when her breath left. Like a whisper, it walked in the trees. Tears fell. A little sheep born in peace, and taken far too young. Six long months of tending a lamb who grew to be a vital young sheep living in freedom, with family and friends of her own. A friend. A daughter. Loved.
Tamsin found her on the sheep route. She was paralysed and looked as if she was about to cross over. But we couldn’t leave her there alone, so we brought her up to the house yard and gave her a warm bed of straw in a cosy shed.
She didn’t die. She got back a lot of her body over time. And we had hope.
She leaves a hole with her passing. She leaves Freda’s special pink bowl. And a daily routine of nursing, tending and taking her water and food, giving her treatments and talking with her. I used to tell her she was getting better every day. And she did. From being paralysed and hand fed, she made a courageous return to being able to eat and drink on her own. Maybe they were special soggy meals so she could cope, but she also got to the point where she could chew on hay. And from the sheep who shed a tear because she was so frightened to wake up in a body that didn’t work, became Freda who made us all laugh with her antics.
Oh, Freda of the big heart, calling us from your goat house hospital bed of straw, because you could! You could baa again! And the look of contentment on your face when we got it right and all your needs were met. You were so deeply loved and such a big part of our family. And I know your soul needed that. To be the special one. To clear the imprint of persecution. I get that.
Yes, you leave a hole. On the morning you passed I was telling our foal about Keats, because I know you don’t have to be a human animal to like poetry. I was telling him to always remember that truth is beauty, and beauty, truth.
And you, my darling, are beauty.
And I will tell the world your truth, my darling. So that if by chance your soul does return, it comes to a kinder, gentler place.
This is the message she gave me when her spirit left her body.
Thank you for bearing witness to my pain and my tears, and for loving me anyway. Thank you for holding me in your arms and urging me on when my confidence waned.
I have had lifetimes of persecution and pain, and now my suffering is at an end. Because of the world you have created. You all gave me love. And it made me so happy. Tell the young one of the big heart that her tending was a balm for my soul. I treasured her love. Love is a healer.
Please, please use me as an Ambassador for Peace. In death, I hope to awaken those still sleeping. The pain of our mothers when they lose children to the humans is immense. And the fear of loss stains our life.
We have such joy to share. And that is what the wider world needs right now.