Horse Junkie

When I was little, I cared about one thing and one thing only: horses. {Not much has changed.}

I would eat, sleep and breathe horses. At the playground, my besties and I would canter around- pretending we were riding our steeds out in the wild west. I dreamed of one day having my own horse in our backyard.

I was like a junkie with a habit and my parents were total enablers- stopping me at every horse pen all across Dare County to snuggle and sniff real live horses. We befriended many horse-owners, as they'd grown accustomed to finding us in their yard. {We always asked permission. #consideratehorsejunkie}

After many visits to our friend's barn, who had become known as "GraMa" {because her grandchildren were close to my age and she had ponies, so naturally...she was my GraMa too} I began riding any spare horse or pony that was available. I was quiet and calm and was told I was a natural with the horses. I didn't know what that meant at the ripe old age of 6, but I felt pretty confident it meant I was in. #score

The summer before my seventh birthday, GraMa began telling my parents about this horse festival called Mule Days. Basically, it is Woodstock for horse people. You camp in a field with your horses for a weekend- you ride your horse (or buggy, if you will) everywhere you go, since the town is mostly shut down to vehicle traffic.

I stopped listening when she said "Eden would love it....horses.....*something something* riding....*something else* she can ride one of our horses and in the carriage"

"When is it?" my dad asked.

"The last weekend in September, every year!" she said.

Conveniently, the last weekend in September happens to fall right around my birthday. I remember the conversation so vividly.

"Daddy, I want to go to Mule Days for my birthday. I don't want a party or presents. I just want to go to Mule Days," I begged. {I remember this conversation so vividly because it happened about 9 million times before our departure}

From the twinkle in his eye, I figured he wanted to go as much as I did. Daddy loved horses and more than that- he loved seeing the joy it brought his little girl. #bestdaddyever We would ride on Sundays with GraMa and her girls and grandkids in preparation for our big adventure.

"Alright, Don...when are you getting Eden a horse," she would ask.

"If she saves her money and can buy a saddle at Mule Days, then I'll know she is serious about wanting a horse," he said.

I was on it. I put every nickle and dime into a blue velvet bag I had stashed away as a barbie-shoe holder. By the time we were packing up for Mule Days, my little bag seemed to weigh more than I did. I was sure I would have enough money for some kind of saddle. {Real dollar amount, I had about $85}

I remember pulling into town in our old grain truck- Mom, Daddy & I all crammed onto the bench seat together. The back of the truck was filled with hay and we were towing the lowboy with two carriages on the back. {#oldschoolgypsy}

"Look, a horse!! Another one!! There's two!!" I shouted.

"Calm down, bud!" Daddy said, half laughing, half aggravated with maneuvering a giant trailer through herds of folks on horses.

After settling in to what I thought was absolute heaven, we walked down to the tack vendors to start searching for the perfect saddle for the perfect amount of money. I met an older cowboy with a long-twisty mustache with nicotine stains around his nostrils. He looked gruff but approached me and my little blue bag of change.

"Can I help you find something, miss?" he asked.

"Um, well...I am here to buy a saddle. I don't have a horse yet. But my daddy promised me if I saved all my money this summer and if I bought a saddle- he would get me a horse," I explained.

I handed him the bag. As he peeked into the bag, he knelt down to be level with my eyes.

"You pick out whatever saddle you want, baby. I will throw in all the fixings," he said.

I wasn't even sure what that meant. But I left there with a beautiful black leather saddle with silver conchos, a new pad, girth, and bridle to match.

The next year, Daddy and I rode up to the same vendor on our horse, Sham, that I had gotten for Christmas a few months after my saddle purchase. I was so proud to show him all of the tack on my very own horse. {The story of how Sham arrived on Christmas morning is a post in itself.}

It takes a village to raise a true cowgirl.

3 Months of Learning

3 months.

I have learned more than I expected about myself in the last three months since losing my daddy. I always took pride in being strong...being tough...being able to handle more than anyone ever expected me to. I have lost family members in the past. I have made the decision to say goodbye to dogs and horses that I worked tireless hours to take care of- stood by them as they took their last breath and fell to the ground. I stood in the pasture and watched as my equine friend was buried. 

I don't know how you stood there and watched...you're tougher than me, I was told many times.

I didn't understand that statement. The hard part was knowing the loss was coming and seeing someone special to me in pain. Watching their pain hurt me worse than the loss of their presence.

When we lost daddy, I learned that I am absolutely not as tough as I thought.

My emotions on a daily basis can vary so widely that I feel like I'm completely losing my mind at least 60% of the time. On the days that I wake up okay, thinking 'okay, I got this...today is going to be okay' I break down before I've even had my coffee. On days that I wake up sad, I end up holding it together. It makes absolutely no sense. Being a control freak, you can imagine how much this drives me up a wall.

I have never ever been a person who likes to be sad. I don't dwell on things. I don't wallow in misery like a pig in slop- in fact, that is one of my biggest pet peeves. There is always a silver lining...find it! But where is the silver lining here?

I'm learning that I haven't ever really mourned, until now. I also learned that there comes a point in mourning where you feel so broken that nothing else can tear you down. {A month after Daddy passed away, our beloved chihuahua passed away suddenly. I couldn't cry. The tears just weren't there.}

I still fight with feeling jealous of strangers who have their fathers. Jealousy...another emotion I'm not fond of, nor familiar with. Will that feeling fade?

In these last three months, I have learned many things- most that lead to more questions about myself. Learning how to mourn will be a daily lesson, as it is for many. We just have to take it one day at a time.

Seriously, America...

Funny thing about criminals- they aren't born criminals, they become criminals after they commit a crime.

Recently, Santa Clara County Superior Court Judge Aaron Persky said that age and lack of criminal history of Brock Turner, the Stanford student who was convicted of three felonies for sexually assaulting an unconscious woman, played a factor in him sentencing Turner to six months in jail.

Six months. 180 days. Roughly one academic year.

"A prison sentence would have a severe impact on him," Persky said. "I think he will not be a danger to others."

Stop right there. It would have a severe impact on him, the rapist? Yes, as well it should- he raped an unconscious woman. His punishment should have as close to an impact on him as his actions did on her. A six month prison sentence? #isthistimeout?

We start teaching our kids at an early age that they have to be held accountable for their actions. If you are rude, you lose a privilege. If you lie, you are grounded. How do teach your kids that doing wrong is wrong when we have a Superior Court Judge saying "Lets not punish him...lets give him a second chance to rape someone- if he does it again- then we will punish him." Where is the motivation to make the right decision if there are no consequences for the wrong ones?

Don't get me started on the FBI and Hillary. #icanteven

Then the shooting in Orlando. Omar Mateen, who had been investigated in 2013 and 2014 by the FBI for suspicions of terrorist activity, legally purchased the handgun and assault rifle he used in to kill over 40 people in a gay nightclub a few days before the massacre.

Stop again. Let that sink in. Someone who was investigated by the FBI more than once had no trouble purchasing an assault rifle. And the folks who sold him the assault

I am all for the right to bear arms. However, if you've been investigated even once for terrorist activity, terrorist connections or even googling jihad- you absolutely should not be able to purchase an assault rifle. In fact, I think there are few circumstances where an assault rifle would be deemed necessary. If you are a gun enthusiast, you should be a sharp enough shot to not need to fire 180 rounds of ammunition per minute to take care of business. #unlessitsazombieapocalypse #thisargumentpissesmyhusbandoff #wecantdiscusspolitics #illendupinthedoghouseoverthis #loveyouboo

Our society is quick to blame religion, laws or race for the actions of one human being. I would like to blame the California Judge for not giving a stricter sentence to a rapist- but ultimately, the rapist is the one to blame. I would like to blame the person who didn't think Mateen should be kept under some sort of surveillance- but it's not that person's fault or the gun's fault- it's Omar Mateen's.

Our country is a scary place to me right now. Our Presidential candidates are in a political pissing match- spending more time trash talking than speaking actual plans. One has absolutely no filter and shouts the most extreme plan possible to get attention- the other points and says "Did you hear him?! He's irrational! Don't listen to him about my past." Our amazing country has turned into a bit of a shitshow...and our ringleaders are nothing short of circus freaks. 

Dream Date

Monday morning, coffee in hand on a seemingly gloomy, overcast morning, I walked from my car into my office. Just before placing my hand on the door, it hit me.

Two weeks ago today, this moment, I heard "I love you, bud" for the last time. 

I told myself to get it together. You say all the time to not dwell on sadness, listen to yourself.

My day moved on like any Monday. I blinked and the day was over and I was laying in my bed with my husband. The room was quiet, except for the thoughts that were knocking around in my head.

"I miss him," I said, telling my husband about my realization earlier in the day of the two-week marker.

"I know you do," he said, hugging me tighter.

We drifted off to sleep. 

My dreams have been vivid and colorful the last few weeks- but they haven't made any sense at all...until last night.

I was walking Little Miss into school, hand in hand, Mom by our side. As we opened the door, there he was- my daddy. He looked like he did when he would walk me into school when I was Little Miss's age- big broad shoulders, red beard, huge smile. He took my hand and squeezed it three times. {i love you}

"I love you, bud!" he said, smiling into my eyes.

"I love you, too!!" I said, as we walked on.

I woke up for the first time in weeks with a happy heart. He knew just what my heart needed to hear- and I'm so thankful!

Our Last Ride

"Go home and be with your family...enjoy your time with them," Daddy's doctor told him.

So that is what we did. 11 days after we were told the initial news about the cancer, we brought Daddy home.

Time stood still that Thursday evening. We soaked up each moment with each other. We overused I love you because we meant it, every time. We stared at each other. We hugged. We cried. We ate a lot...of any kind of food he wanted. We held each other tight. 

"Do you know what means the most in this world to me?" he asked me, as I was walking out of his bedroom.

"What, Daddy?"

"You," he said pointing at me.

I fought back the tears as I walked back over to hug him one more time. As I walked towards him, my mind traveled to when I was little- he would back into the driveway and I would run up to his dumptruck for a hug.

"You know what means the most to me?" I asked him, as he wiped my tears.

Neither of us could speak. We didn't have to. 

Friday night was restless. His breathing was progressively getting weaker and weaker. His pain levels were untouched by the pain medication- but he was still fighting to be himself.

"I want to take a shower...and then I want to go for a ride," he said.

My determination kicked into high gear. It was the first thing he had said he wanted to do, besides eat, since we got home. Come hell or high water we were going for a ride.

A friend was washing his truck- and all I could think about was how Daddy was going to rip me a new one, cancer or not, if that truck got scratched during the washing. I was as nervous as a cat on a hot tin roof.

"Looks good, where are my keys?" he asked me, as we walked towards his truck.

My heart sunk. I knew I couldn't let him drive with all the medication he was on...but the thought of disappointing him tied my stomach into knots.

"I ain't stupid...I want to sit in my seat...start my truck," he said.

I passed him the keys. He sat down and started his truck. He laid his head back and closed his eyes as the motor purred and the radio played a song that fit way to well. {I Drive Your Truck, Lee Brice}

The moment flew by. He got up and moved to the passenger seat.

"Let's go somewhere, Bud," he said to me.

I was honored. No one has ever driven that truck but him. No one.

"Where do you want to go?"

"Doesn't matter...your house," he replied.

As we drove, just the two of us, I noticed he was drifting in and out of sleep. I held his hand tight and enjoyed our daddy-daughter time. I thought of all the times he would take me to ride- we would ride by every house that had horses in Dare County until we found someone who would let me pet them. Then, when we got our horse- we spent Sundays, just me and him, on our horse together. 

As we drove by Midway, his eyes popped open.

"You missed it- turn around," he snapped.

"What?" I asked.

"Midway...I want to see James. Turn around," he said.

James has been a friend of our family for as long as I can remember. When Daddy taught me how to change my oil, he told me the only other person who was allowed to touch my car was James Cahoon. 

"Daddy, I don't think James is there now...but we can go find him," I said.

"Let's go see your horses," he said, drifting back to sleep.

We pulled up to the front of my house and the horses were out front. 

"Hey Tristan!" Daddy hollered.

Tristan knickered back to him, the biggest, proudest knicker I have ever heard.

"Go feed him, I'll watch you from here," he told me.

In the moment, as special as it felt then, I never imagined how close I would hold that truck ride in my heart.

When we got back home, he slept for 5 hours. As I peeped into his bedroom, he motioned for me to come lay with him.

"I'm sorry I have to leave you soon," he said, staring into my eyes.

"It's going to be okay, Daddy. We will take care of Mom...it's going to be okay," I said.

"I know you will...I know."

"Will you promise me something?" I asked, squeezing his hand.

He looked at me and raised his eyebrows.

"Promise me you'll visit me...us...in our dreams?"

He smiled.

"I promise. That sounds like fun," he said, and he drifted back to sleep.

Monday morning at 6:55am my mom called. Daddy had a really bad night. 

"He wants to go on a truck ride- he said something about James," she said.

I called James and he was on the way over immediately.

I dropped Little Miss off at school and went straight to my parents. James was sitting with Daddy, telling stories about wrecks they'd hauled together and races they'd attended.

Daddy's voice was weak. I hugged and kissed him.

"Do you want me to stay?" I asked.

"I'm okay, go on to work," he told me. 

So I did. He didn't ever want for me to see him in pain and I could see how much he was hurting.

"I love you, Daddy...don't forget about our dream-dates," I said.

Just a few short hours later, Mom called me at work to tell me to come back.

"This is it...hurry."

Those words rang in my head as I sat frozen at my desk. My body started shaking. I grabbed my purse and wondered how I would get the words out of my mouth to tell my boss where I was going.

I don't remember what I said or the drive to my parent's house. I walked into the front door and could see through the back door to the porch. My daddy was sitting down with his head resting on my mom's chest. The stress-lines on his forehead were relaxed- his body was no longer tense. He was gone. 

A wave of calmness washed over me as I kissed his forehead. I could feel his spirit holding me tight. 

As difficult as the last few days were, I wouldn't trade them for anything in the world. We got to say goodbye- so many people never get that moment. I will cherish those last few days and I know I will see him again.

I'll see you in my dreams, Daddy.