The memorial service was held in South Africa yesterday, with scores of people gathering to celebrate and commemorate a life lived well.
I sat at my desk, unable to concentrate. I didn’t take time away—not because I couldn’t, but because I wouldn’t.
Grief is an interesting companion. Like life, Grief demands that you look within. It will challenge you, blindside you, diminish you, and lay your most vulnerable aspects bare. Grief insists that you pay attention—acknowledge its presence walking beside you. If you resist, it has the power to undo you.
But when you acknowledge Grief—even welcome it in and ask for the story—something begins to shift. No, the ouch doesn’t disappear. But as you sit with Grief, the story unfolds: stories of laughter and tears, companionship, shared memories, and above all—love.
Friends who attended the memorial told me about the horses. They were brought down from the hill and into the indoor arena. They stood quietly, as if holding space. And when the service ended, there was a collective snort—a breath out. A release. A letting go.
Someone asked if the herd felt the loss.
Yes, they did.
The grief in the herd was palpable—you could feel it in your chest, your gut. You could witness it in the stillness of their bodies, in the weight of their presence, the need for connection when a human entered the arena. On a video call, I saw them, and I felt it too. The sadness. The herd carried the collective grief that had settled over the farm.
What remains—what is real—is the impact she had on so many lives, in so many different ways:
- Kindness
- Wisdom
- A generosity of spirit in sharing her space and her horses
- Honesty
- Vision
- Determination to see that vision through—whether it was family, horses, art, or friendship
- The ability to say no, and mean it
So, the next step?
To continue the journey.
To remember the stories.
To carry the wisdom learned on the hillside, in the quiet company of horses.
To follow what resonates in my heart.
Through the memories of friendship, through the lessons of grief, through the presence of the herd—my story carries her legacy.
Because no life touches another without leaving a mark.
