It’s been a year since I lost my girl. Oddly, today was a day just like that day a long year ago. Warm. Sunny. Unseasonable. All said, not a bad day to die. I remember the days of agony proceeding this day. The sleepless nights. The hours of questioning myself over and over again. The doubts, the fears, the stress over the minute details.
And then? A gaping hole in my heart, the loss of balance where my equilibrium used to be. There is no point in trying to get over this sort of thing. That’s impossible. You can’t pretend all is well when you know full well that it’s not, and never will be again. But you try. You gallantly move forward and strive to do your best, to place one foot in front of the other because if you don’t, you threaten to sink into a despair that you might never escape.
So I solder on. I question myself a lot more than I did at 34, when I threw caution to the wind and took a reckless chance on a small, feisty, gray mare. I’m more wary now. Older. Less given to impulse and passion. But in my soul beats the heart of a champion, a Clarion call to keep pressing forward once more.
There will never be another Tia.
But maybe that’s the point …