A Day to Consider Loss

Today we suffered another loss here at The Sage Creek Ranch.

It seems to be a theme in our life these days. 

Hubster found one of our horses, Peach, in the pasture with a broken leg this morning. We had to put her down, as the break was severe and compound. 

Two weeks ago, my grandmother lost her long and debilitating fight with Alzheimer's. 

Peach is the third horse we've lost to some kind of extraordinary circumstances in the past two years. 

This afternoon, I feel those losses keenly. 

It's not that I don't understand that death is a part of being a human and living life; I do. I've lost family members before and grieved their passing, both timely and not. I've lost two dogs that were my dear companions, and two of my own dear horses--the two that grew me up and taught me immeasurable things. 

We love people and animals and eventually, more often than we care for, we lose them. 

The words of King Solomon in Ecclesiastes 3 come to mind: 

There is a time for everything,
    and a season for every activity under the heavens:

2     a time to be born and a time to die,
    a time to plant and a time to uproot,
3     a time to kill and a time to heal,
    a time to tear down and a time to build,
4     a time to weep and a time to laugh,
    a time to mourn and a time to dance,
5     a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
    a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
6     a time to search and a time to give up,
    a time to keep and a time to throw away,
7     a time to tear and a time to mend,
    a time to be silent and a time to speak,
8     a time to love and a time to hate,
    a time for war and a time for peace.

I trust that there is a time and purpose for all things that happen in our lives, since the Lord promises that He uses all things, even the bad ones, for His own purpose. Yet even knowing that, my heart feels very, very heavy this morning. 

I've been writing lately about my journey with fertility struggles and trying to get pregnant, which has been a journey hindered with setbacks, struggles, and disappointments. I work in a job that often threatens to bog you down in overwhelming ways, when you watch a kid take a path that you will know end in disaster. I had to make the call this summer to put down the horse that has been my partner for the past 8 years. My sweet, wonderful Grandmother finally slipped away, succumbing to the disease that's been robbing her of her mental facilities for many years now. 

There's just so much loss on my mind today. 

So I am sitting at my computer in our little library, doing what I most often do when I feel badly: I am writing. I am not sure what to write about, or how to make sense of all this, but I try anyway. I believe that the Lord allows things to challenge and test us, and that these losses are not only things that happen in life, but things that test and challenge me. 

Yet I am still unclear what I am supposed to take away from these tests and challenges. Losing three horses seems like a lot, and it makes me think I need to rethink my horse keeping strategies. But in review of those strategies, there's nothing in particular to change. Bailey was lost to a terrible but completely accidental tangling in a fence that wasn't a particular danger. Gunny colicked severely and terribly with no hint of what caused it. Now Peach has broken her leg in the middle of a pasture, most likely as a result of being kicked or stepping in a hole. Since I can't keep my horses in bubbles, I have to accept that these are accidents that took place outside what I can readily control. 

Perhaps the lesson is to let it go and trust that there is a plan. 

The loss of my grandmother, among many things, was a relief--a relief to see that she was no longer suffering, a relief to see that my father's burden as her guardian was lifted. But in considering her extended and debilitating fight with Alzheimer's, I have to wonder what such a test was all about. Once her mind was gone, she was surely not still here with us so that she could learn anything more. So what are we, her family, meant to take away from it? 

I wish I knew the answer to that question. 

I think perhaps that we are meant to struggle through these things so that we learn to place our trust in the One who created us. Someone very wise once told me that my lows are so low because I fly over the mountain peaks in the good times. And I think the same is true in this situation: When I got the call that Grandma was gone, the joy I felt mingled with the sadness was great, because her passing home was contrasted with the lowest of lows that Alzheimer's forces you to endure. The tough times made this joy all the sweeter for what we had all, her included, been through. 

So perhaps that's the lesson that I will ponder on today. Despite feeling low and pummeled with loss today, I will remember that it is only because of lows that we truly know, understand, and appreciate the highs in life.