Be the Light
Expanding through moments that break you
~Dedicated to sweet Suzannah. You left us too soon, but you’ll never be forgotten. Thank you for all the light, lessons, & love you brought us. In your memory, we promise to always use our voices for the voiceless.~
I have some suggested listening while reading this one; it beautifully and mournfully brings to light the sadness, grief, and guilt that often accompany a loss.
Moments that Break You
There are moments in rescue that absolutely break you. The one captured in the image above was one of them for me. Suzannah was just four years old. Dangerously underweight when she arrived at the farm, her body told the story of years of neglect — she had no reason to trust humans. And she didn’t . . . initially. She would make haste as soon as she saw one of us coming with a halter or a fly mask. She wasn’t mean at all, just not interested. She was weak and experiencing breathing difficulties in the hot, humid, New England summer. She and five of her friends found safety, nourishing food, clean water, shelter, and a large, dry space at the farm. They also found kindness and compassion, some of them for the first time in their lives.
In the two-and-a-half short weeks that she was with us, she had started to come out of her shell. She was easier to catch and she was starting to enjoy getting scratches (though she wasn’t ready to admit it yet!). Unfortunately, one fateful evening, we lost her.
Given that this case is actively in the hands of law enforcement, I can’t share all of the details, but it started with a text that Suzannah wasn’t interested in eating her dinner — not a good sign for any horse, especially not one who is emaciated. I ran up the hill to her paddock to hear from the barn staff what was going on, when she suddenly laid down in her shed. None of us had seen her lay down since she had been at the farm, and especially not during mealtime.
I approached her quietly. She let me walk right up to her, even touch her, without rising to her feet — this can be interpreted as a sign of trust OR as a sign of her being very unwell. Maybe it was both, but it was definitely the latter. I assessed the situation — she was covered in manure and had clearly been rolling and thrashing around (a very serious sign of pain in horses) before we saw her for dinnertime. Another staff member had groomed her just an hour and a half earlier and she had showed no signs of discomfort. This came on quickly. We sprang into action calling the vet, taking her temperature, listening to gut sounds, counting her breaths and heartbeats, giving meds. Then, we waited.
While we waited for the vet to arrive, Suzannah was very expressive and *almost* affectionate. She rubbed her head on my shoulder. She leaned on me. She laid down several times and let me hang with her as she did. The photo above was taken during one of these times. I’m so grateful for this photo and the private moment it captured between us. I will forever cherish the beauty and connection of this time and remember the conversation we were having (see photo caption above for what I told Suzannah that evening). I didn’t know for sure that we were in Suzannah’s final hours on Earth, but I knew she needed a friend. She would not suffer alone — every one of the barn staff dropped their after-work plans and obligations to stay with her.
Each time she got up, she walked alongside me and stopped in the same spot, placing me in the same area of her abdomen. I massaged her belly and gave her scratches — we all did. No matter how I moved or where I walked, she followed, placed me in the same spot, and looked back at me expectantly. If I didn’t touch her when she did this, she’d step sideways toward me and bump into me with her ribcage. She repeated these behaviors over and over again. I told her I understood she was communicating where her pain was, and we were going to try to help her.
And we did try. Our vet quickly arrived at the farm and examined her. The decision was made to take her to the hospital where she could get more intensive treatment than she could on the farm. A colleague and I took her the hour and twenty minute trailer ride to the referral hospital, where the team pulled out all the stops. Ultimately, given the results of myriad diagnostic tests and her already compromised body condition, there was only the slimmest of chances she would survive — less than 5%. She was in an immense amount of pain, her breaths short, quick, and shallow and her entire body shaking. Heartbroken, we made the decision to let her go and end her suffering.
She was FOUR years old with so much life ahead of her. She still had baby teeth. This was one of those moments in life that both shattered and shaped me. In rescue, we have a lot of tough moments, and in each of them, I have questioned whether I had the strength to go through it - turns out, I do. In each of them, I’ve learned how much love and pain and grief a person can feel and handle at the same time. This night, I was grieving for a life needlessly lost too soon.
It’s maybe notable to some readers that one of the areas where the veterinarian at the clinic found severe, life threatening, and painful complications in her digestive system was exactly where she had repeatedly indicated to me she was in pain back at the farm. When you listen, they will tell you everything.
The Right Path
In the following days, the rescue wrote a facebook post to honor Suzannah and let the community know of her passing. I didn’t know about the post until my phone started blowing up with DMs — messages of sorrow, grief, and gratitude poured in. I also got some questions. People wanted to know how I do this job. They wanted to know what I do for self care. They asked if I had figured out how to wall off my emotions during these difficult and challenging situations.
I want to spend a few moments addressing these questions, as I think my answers may be able to help others understand when they are on their highest path.
As far as compartmentalizing — my answer is yes and no. During the emergency, my thoughts were clear, time slowed down, and I was all-business while we tried to save her life. I was fully aware of the seriousness of the situation and that if she had any hope of making it, all of us would need to set aside our feelings about the situation and focus on Suzannah. Of course, there were moments when I let the ache in my heart peek through and I had to will myself to hold it together and stay focused. But I quickly reminded myself that this horse needed me to stay calm and clear.
Don’t get me wrong, I fell apart the next morning. And that was the release. That was the beginning of self care. I did not hold onto my grief, but let it flow and complete its cycle. And I found it came in waves. I’d take a deep breath and allow it to come and go. In fact, a few days later on my way to work, when I was fully distracted by the next crazy thing that was happening at the farm, this song came into my Spotify playlist. At the first note, I lost my breath, a lump rising into my throat, along with some big feelings of grief and guilt — grief for an innocent life lost way too soon and guilt in wishing I could have done more to save her. I had an epic ugly cry that lasted until I pulled into the parking lot. As a person who has been described as “having no feelings,” these were some big feelings, and I was glad to see them move along. 👋
I think a lot of people assume that we have to close off our hearts to do this work. Even within rescue, perhaps especially within rescue, we are expected to be tough sometimes. It's easy to go numb inside as a form of self-preservation. I'm trying my best not to let that happen because I love these animals so very much. And you can't harden yourself off to pain without also losing the love.
Staying present and aware means I also need to find healthy ways to cope and process. Some folks need a break, a massage, some therapy (I could probably use that!), etc. We are all different. For me, I let my body heal itself and try not to get in its way or resist what comes up. The next act of self-care I practice is redirecting my energy and awareness to the next horse that needs help — not in an effort to forget or dull the effects of what happened, but to honor the soul we lost. My final act of self care is putting words to the experience. This space is self care for me, so thank you for being here.
Regarding the how do you do this question — my answer is: this is what my soul wants. What other option do I have besides going all in, being there for the hard stuff (and the good stuff), and feeling all of it? It was a privilege to be with Suzannah in her final hours - there was nowhere else I wanted to be that night. Was it easy? Absolutely not. That’s why I knew I had to be there, and the fact that there was no doubt in my mind was further confirmation that this is my life’s work. I was exactly where I was supposed to be AND my heart was breaking. Both things were true.
Once I get beyond the acute pain, anger, and grief, I try to find the message, lesson, or shred of light within the situation. There is always growth and beauty that can come from these breaking moments. This is HARD, and I’m not always successful. What happened to Suzannah was not fair. As far as I can tell, her whole life was not fair. But in the end, her passing brought together a huge community of people who truly care about what happened to her.
The facebook post was seen by over 122,000 people. And in animal welfare, knowledge and truth are power. Some of those people selflessly donated to help cover the costs of caring for her and the rest of her friends. Many sent us messages of grief and gratitude, some even sharing their own stories of loss. Some will now feel more empowered to use their voices for the voiceless — to protect animals like Suzannah by reporting neglect and abuse to the authorities. Some simply had their heart touched by a baby horse who was dealt a bad hand.
The ripple effect of her impact on the world cannot be measured. Suzannah taught all of us about love, trust, and hope — after all she had been through, her willingness to give people another chance, to open her heart to us with no guarantee we wouldn’t break it again, is an astounding lesson to us all. Love is always possible and it is the absolute highest good there is.
She invited me to love without armor, without trying to guard myself from the ache I knew might come. And it did come. And still, I carry deep gratitude for the honor of spending a few short weeks, her final hours, and her final moments loving her.
~ If everything around you seems dark, look again, you may be the light - Rumi ~
Suzannah was the light, and she taught me to be the light, too.
A Few Questions for You
The challenging times I’ve experienced in horse rescue have only intensified my desire to do it — that’s one way I know I’ve found where I’m supposed to be right now. I’ve always known I wanted to do something with animals, but it has taken me a long time to find my way back home. A long time ago, I became a vet tech to test out what it might be like to become a vet. I lasted 3 months. The stress and sadness of what I saw in that short time had me breaking out in hives and extremely anxious every day. That was not the right path for me, and I knew it immediately. I took a large detour before I arrived back at animals as a job, but I now know this is where I belong and what I need to be doing to fulfill my purpose.
How will you know when you are on your path?
Are there times in your life when you feel like time ceases to exist? Times when you get into “the flow,” when you merge with the moment and dissolve into what you are doing? Don’t overthink it—what’s the very first thing that comes to mind when I ask: If you could do anything with your life right now, no limits, no money worries, no obligations, nothing to be “realistic” about — what would it be? What is something you can’t go a day without thinking about? When a challenge arises in a certain area of your life, do you run toward it, instead of away?
Your answer(s) to these questions may help point you toward your passion, your purpose, the gifts you are here to give the world. Even if it seems completely unreasonable and you are nowhere near being able to pivot to whatever it is, put the intention out there anyway. Ask the universe (or God, spirit, source - whatever it is for you) for help and it will always respond. And then pay attention. In big or small ways, things will start to shift. Opportunities will present themselves. Lily pads will appear. Your job is to notice and take the leap, even if the “leap” is just inching your baby toe forward. You will never feel ready (take it from me!!). You always have a choice — you always have free will. But until you align your outer life with your inner calling, something will always be missing.
Learn More about the Horses
If you’d like to learn more about this group of horses, all of whom have suffered years of neglect before their eventual rescue, this video is a good place to start, as well as to give your support if you are able and feel compelled to do so.
This post about Suzannah is the one that started a flurry of questions about how rescue workers emotionally survive some of the difficult things they see and experience. It was viewed over 122,000 times 😳 and shared across New England, the US, and the globe.
Would love your feedback, including any topics you, as the reader, would like me to write about.