I can point you to the chair where I was sitting. Checking email between reading cases in the law library at a table with three equally miserable compatriots. My body went numb, and I think limp, and I remember it was very hard to breathe. As I gasped, three concerned faces whispered furiously, “what’s wrong?” My face wouldn’t work right, “I…she…oh dear Lord…it’s…one of my horse kids…she…she died. I…I have to go call people.” I stumbled out the door and dialed a number I hadn’t called in months. The voice that answered said it all, wavering and weak. “Beth! Is it true? How’s Deb? Where are you?” I crumbled against the brick lobby wall while my dear friend and I sobbed on the phone together broken in our own loss and crushed at what our friend was experiencing.

I hadn’t seen my horse show people in a while. I hadn’t shown a horse in over 2 years, but family is family and time and distance don’t matter when you’ve shared a cross country trip in a horse trailer. I was on the phone with our trainer, but Kaitlyn was more than just another rider. She was one of those kids who glowed. A teenager with legs longer than my horse’s, all gangly and beautiful and funny with a smile that charmed more than one judge. She was one of the “squirrels”. Our farm was full of majestic oaks, and named after them, so the club of Beth’s younger students had been dubbed the squirrels. It was perfect.

And Kaitlyn’s mom, Deb; a woman whose young faith was daunting and certain. She hauled my Charlie Brown right next to Kaitlyn’s Snoopy all the way to Tulsa, where buckles were won and friendships forged for life. Now those were all just memories because we wouldn’t be making any more with Kaitlyn. A car wreck had ended her life.

I was there; I had to be there for her visitation and service. I wrote a note to Deb about how incredibly important her daughter had been to me. It wasn’t enough, I knew it wasn’t, but what else do you do when nothing will ever be enough?

And then when my little son lay in a NICU bed this woman came to pray with me. She looked at me with knowing eyes and loved me just because she could. Because she knew what it meant to lose a child. And she brought my son a precious gift from her daughter - his first horse. She walked into her daughter’s room and selected from those few precious things a gift for my son. I know what a sacrifice that was.

When your child dies, you are left with a limited number of memories. There will be no new memories and no new things that remind you of your baby. You only have these prized few possessions for the rest of your life. My Deb freely gave one to our son, because that’s who she is. I couldn’t love her more. We exchange notes about our kids in heaven, and how Joel has the perfect babysitter and friend to teach him how to ride. It is going to be a long road on this earth until we see our kids again in heaven. I am just honored I get to travel it with her.