A Season of Silence and Storm

When Loss, Leadership, and Horses Collide

This blog is about what happens when everything you have built is tested at once.
It is about grief, responsibility, and the moments where purpose is forged not through inspiration, but through endurance. This chapter explores how horses, loss, and leadership intersect when life removes all illusion of control and asks one hard question. Will you stay present, or will you walk away?

Living in the present moment is a beautiful philosophy until the moments themselves become unbearable. Through the programs at the ranch, I had received constant reminders that life offers learning opportunities at every turn. I believed I was mastering the art of acceptance. I had rebuilt myself after two marriages. I had climbed to the top of different careers. I was raising three daughters. I felt confident.

Life was not finished with me yet.

The road ahead was designed to bring me to my knees in ways I could not have imagined.

When the Storm Quietly Arrives

The year 2010 carried the momentum of a new beginning. I was navigating the hurdles of a startup while looking toward a future that finally felt aligned. Then, in December, the air changed.

My mother, Faye, became very ill.

She had always been a woman of boundless energy, but suddenly her strength began to slip away. She was losing weight. She was falling. The hospital became a frequent, unwelcome destination. I felt torn between my heart and my responsibilities. For six months, I watched her body become a fragile shell of the woman she once was.

Even as she moved into hospice, her spirit remained a lighthouse. The nurses loved her humor. She kept her light burning even as the shadows grew long.

The Day Everything Changed

June 1, 2011 began like any other Wednesday. By the end of it, my world was unrecognizable.

The Sunday night before, I noticed Buddy did not look right. I went to him in the field and felt a cold knot settle in my stomach. He was covered in mud on one side. The vet suggested he may have slipped and advised medication.

That Wednesday morning, I walked out to greet the herd. I saw Buddy lying there and knew instantly he was gone. He was only seventeen.

My students were scheduled to arrive in fifteen minutes.

I felt a hollow buzzing in my head. I called the vet and was given the number for a processing truck to remove his body. I could not comprehend how I was supposed to stand in my arena and lead a class while my heart was breaking.

Five minutes before arrival, the school cancelled. It was a small mercy.

Loss Does Not Wait for Permission

I went back to the hospital to see my mom. I think she heard me tell her about Buddy, even though she was drifting. Later, I returned home to meet the driver. Heavy rains prevented the truck from entering the field. I was told I would have to drive the tractor myself and pull Buddy to where the truck could reach him.

I asked neighbours for help. No one was home.

Standing alone in the mud, I knew I could not leave him there overnight. I asked the driver to shield my eyes from the chains. I drove the tractor, feeling the weight of loss dragging behind me.

That evening, at seven o’clock, my mother passed away.

My daughters later said Buddy died so Grandma would have a horse to ride into heaven.

When Grief Comes in Waves

The weeks that followed felt relentless.

We celebrated my mother on Friday. That same day, we learned a friend from the hospital had died. On Sunday, I began clearing out my mother’s house. On Monday, my brother called to say our Uncle Macie had passed. He was born on the same day as my mom. My instinct was to call her.

Then reality hit again.

At the same time, my horses began to struggle.

Charlie worsened. A yellow discharge appeared. I spent money I did not have on treatments. A scope revealed a rare fungal infection in his guttural pouch. Surgery would cost over five thousand dollars with no guarantee. I was warned one morning I might simply find him dead in a pool of blood.

I was over two hundred thousand dollars in debt. I questioned everything. Was this the universe telling me to stop?

Choosing Purpose Over Collapse

On July 26 at five in the morning, I found the blood. Charlie was bleeding out. I called the vet. It took three injections to end his life. Even in his final moments, he reached for the grass.

I stood in the rain washing toxic blood away so my dogs would survive. I screamed into the sky asking why.

The next day, my students arrived.

They brought flowers. A hand drawn card of Charlie. They hugged me and held me together. They stood on that land and spoke about their dreams. About family. About belonging.

And I understood.

This was bigger than my pain.

The horses reached these children in ways no human could. Quitting was not an option. I was here to hold space where horses could change lives.

Even in the storm.