8.20.25
Chevy girl has been weighing on my heart. Since Tyson passed unexpectedly at the end of April, she hasn’t been the same. Her health is slowly slipping, and her spirit feels dimmer. She’s grieving, and watching it unfold has stirred up old memories for me.
I think of my grandparents. Both of my grandfathers passed before my grandmothers, though not by long. I’ll never forget sitting in my grandma Honey’s library in Indiana, hearing her say she wanted to die without grandpa Buck. I was in my early 20’s, too young to really understand, but I can still see the pain in her eyes. Back then, I couldn’t imagine that kind of heartbreak. Now I can.
Kendall has been so patient and nurturing with Chevy, and it amazes me. We both keep worrying about her quality of life, and we keep reminding each other that what matters most is what’s best for Chevy, even when it hurts us. Saying it out loud helps, sometimes over, and over again.
And I know what I need to do—quit fucking bidding on horses online. That’s my alcoholic mind at work, trying to “fix” what can’t be fixed. It’s the same old pattern, reaching for something outside of myself to numb, distract, replace, or control the ache I don’t want to sit with. That part of me whispers, If I just buy something, win something, get something new…maybe this pain will stop. But it doesn’t. It never has.
I used to wonder if it’s possible to really die from a broken heart. Now I don’t just wonder—I believe it.
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