BY ASHLEY R. PADGETT
It’s weird to think about how grief can and should look. I’ve seen tragedy and how people respond. And I have always thought to myself, how would I react in those situations? Would I stand in silence, taking it in? Would I yell and scream? Would I silently cry on the inside and do what I need to do to move on? Would I stop and think about how I want to react first, or would I lose all control? Violently shake, unable to talk, unable to hear, unable to stand, unable to do the tasks needed, and relying on others to help?
In The Traumatic Moment, in the moment of hearing the most devastating news, you forget how to function. There was no more control. I was outside of my own body and mind. My world went black. The walls closed in. I couldn’t breathe. I tried so hard to stand. Ears ringing. Vision became a sea of waves.
My knees buckled, and I met the ground. The place that once was filled with hoofbeats became completely silent. No sight. No sound. I was crumbling. I was crumbling right beside him. Both of us joined together in terror and pain that day. Both of us joined together over fear.
Only one of us was able to stand again. Only one of us is now pain-free. Only one of us is learning how to breathe again. Only one of us is moving on.
I wonder if he still hears my screams. I wonder if he still feels my trembling hands and tears falling on his face. I wonder if he still feels every memory. I wonder all the time about him. Every day, every minute.
I see him too. Does he still see me?
I find him in every song, every sunset, every sunrise. Every moment. I search for him in every horse I see. I search for him in everything. Maybe I search because my heart doesn’t want the grieving to end. Afraid to forget? Not the good memories, or even the trauma. Even those times brought us so close together that death couldn’t separate us.
But the trauma is what replays over and over again. I still hear the terror in my voice, the screaming, the crying. I can still feel my knees falling to the ground and the way they shook as I tried to stand. The weight of struggling to keep him standing while the lead rope connected us. An exchange between two souls fighting to keep each other’s hearts from shattering.
But hearts were shattered. A lifetime of having a shattered heart. That’s what this year has felt like.
A year of always looking for him. A year of trying to heal. A year of trying to stop the pain. A year of moving on from the trauma. Trying not to cry randomly throughout the day. Trying to remember the happy memories. I know they will come back. Eventually. At least I have memories. That is what keeps him alive.
At least he’s alive. Even if only in my mind.
The days look different now. They will always be different. The healing will never stop. The searching will never stop. The plan to find you again will never stop. I know I will.
Find you again.
A different lifetime, maybe? Even then, I will happily take it. Any lifetime without you feels unfinished. Incomplete. My life goes on. Searching to find you. Searching to find myself.
The searching will never end. That’s the point, isn’t it?
Whether it’s grief, trauma, or the memories that come without warning, our story doesn’t end. The smells, the feelings, the quiet moments, even the chaos. I find a little peace in that.
Two souls that didn’t know they needed each other. Connected forever.
Dedicated to Whiskey (Sugar Foot), My Heart Horse
Ashley R. Padgett is a lifelong equestrian and writer who believes some of the greatest lessons horses can teach happen outside of the saddle. Through personal storytelling, she explores the love, loss, resilience, and profound connections that come with a life shaped by horses. She hopes her writings give a voice to the parts of the equestrian experience that aren’t always talked about but are deeply felt.
