I first heard it on the Today show while walking on the treadmill.
"Kidnap victim, Jaycee Dugard and her mother are working on rebuilding their relationship by horseback riding....."
There was more but I stopped listening after that. I was too busy having a flashback...
Six years ago I was a mess. My body had decided to relapse, again, making me sick at heart as well as sick of body. Depression was my shadow as I begged my doctor to please not put me on prednisone, the only drug known to knock my kidneys back into gear. While my nephrologist figured out what to do, I came down with the worst case of stomach flu I ever had in my life. Kidney disease plus acute GI distress is the one-two punch that knocked me out. I was sure I was going to die.
But I didn't. Slowly I came back to being able to eat more than just ice. My doc started me on an alternate kidney med and it worked. Weak as a kitten there was light at the end of the tunnel when I got a call from my sister. My Dad had passed away.
My father was a horseman. He was a small man, maybe 5'6", but on his Palomino, Boots, he was a king. I learned more from my Dad through horses and being outside than I did in any other venue. He wasn't an easy man. He expected perfection from himself and his kids and melancholia dogged him. But in the wooded hills of Eastern Kansas, riding a trail with the horses, there was a greater ease of being. I was lucky to get to share it with him.
Months later, not long after the memorial service for my Dad (that had been postponed so I could attend), I did an impulsive search for horse lessons. Fully recovered from my illness, but still heart sick, I felt a need to reconnect with all those memories. At North Star Farm I learned all over again how to care for and ride horses; first Yummy, then Fancy and finally Annie.
In my head I conversed with my Dad. He thought it was interesting that I chose to ride Hunter Under Saddle instead of Western. He was amused that I was able to post easily because that's how he taught us to trot. He shook his head when I hurt myself trying to barrel race at 50.
One night I had a dream that told me my grieving was done; I could heal now. Annie was in her cross ties. As I finished up grooming her, my Dad walked up and laid a hand on her forelock. It was so real I could smell his special soap.
"She's a beauty, Etoseh," his nickname for me. "I'm proud of you."
Since coming back to horses I've heard many variations on my story. Women who have healed through their horses. A breast cancer survivor, a woman who lost her young son in a car accident, another whose husband of twenty years suddenly left her, all say, "If it weren't for my horse I don't know what would have happened. My horse saved me."
Now Jaycee and her family, with a therapist who apparently knows a poll from a hock, are mending from an unthinkable trauma through horses. They appear to be in good hands and good hooves as well! I wish them well and many, many happy trails.
Photo courtesy of Bastiand via Flickr
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