Dear Roxie,

You always were so much more than a horse to me. And, you would have been ten this year… wow. I can’t believe that! That means this would have been our sixth winter together.  Lord, I can’t even believe that. I still remember the day I found out you were mine- my parents hid your picture in a blanket for Christmas. Literally, one of the best things to happen to me, ever. You’ve been gone for about two and half years now, and you know what? I don’t care that you were “just” a horse. You weren’t, not even close.

You know, it really killed me when you died, so unexpectedly, so randomly, on such a pure, perfect summer day. It was surreal. I can’t tell what made your death worse; the fact that I found you dead in your stall, all sweaty and laying down with your mouth contorted, still as a board, or the fact of knowing my absolute best friend in the world, the thing I set and associated myself by, my passion, the thing I had complete and utter trust in, was just… gone. You were gone. Poof, gone from my life. Never again would I be able to ride you, feel that smooth lope. Never again would I hear you whinny at me when I walked in through those barn doors. Never again could I touch you. I wouldn’t be able to see your gorgeous, champagne colored coat, your funky tail with streaks of different colors, your three socks, or your cute little pink patch underneath the white spot on your nose. I wouldn’t be able to show you, ever again.

You always were too pure of a horse to exist in real-life for too long. You were spunky and nice and kind and patient and a bitch and I loved every part of you. The barn radio was on when I said goodbye and you know what song was playing? “I Still Miss You” by Keith Anderson. Ironic, eh baby girl? I still can’t freaking listen to that song without crying. You were supposed to be there when I graduate high school, when I started college. You weren’t. You were my rock, my foundation to reality. How many times did I think about just driving off a bridge, or overdosing on pills or something. My sense of reality was all warped and everything was surreal. I can still remember every single thing that happened when I found you. I hated life and I hate myself. I felt it was my fault that I didn’t catch that you weren’t feeling good the day before when I rode you. Sometimes, I still feel like it’s my fault… I should have read you better, baby girl.

Since your death, life has been, to put it simply, weird. Honestly, everything has spiraled out of control. My parent’s finances are shit, their marriage is shot, and my home life now sucks. Instead of living the college dream, I’m living at home trying to save money. It feels like you dying was a jinx onto my family. I had to switch barns because no one got me after you died, and had to switch trainers, friends, etc. Life just isn’t the same. I still get down about you and no one gets it. No one gets that you were never just a horse. You were my best friend, my lover, my boyfriend, my rock, my life. Then, all of the sudden, you were just gone.

One good thing that’s come from this is I got Gracie. Lord, she’s been a life-saver. I don’t know where the hell my life would be without that cute little horse. She reminds me of you in so many ways. It’s like you were partly reincarnated into her. She likes to chew reins and buttons on coats. You both wear the same size blankets, bridle/cavesson sizes and even have a long, thick tail. It amazes me that you guys are so alike. You are both spunky and both totally respect me. I love you both.

I lay awake at night trying to remember what you felt like, what you sounded like. I can’t remember your lope, your jog, your walk, anything. It destroys me. I feel so guilty. Why have I forgotten? What have I done to forget something as beautiful as you? As my best friend? It’s so frustrating that I have slowly forgotten everything about you. I admit to only visiting your grave the one time. I just can’t do it. Don’t be mad, I’d rather remember you as something pure, whole and beautiful, not broken and wounded, dead, on the ground.

I must say, I do look forward to your signs that you’re doing okay. The rainbows? I see them and know they’re from you, especially after I’ve been particularly down or it’s been a rough day. I think that after the majority of horse shows I’ve gone to since you died, I have seen a rainbow at some point or another. Thank you for that. Thank you for motivating be to become a veterinarian, no matter how long the road. I want to honor your memory, Rox. I can only imagine some beautiful angel riding you across the clouds while you wait for me to join you one day. Please, please continue to watch over me, my family, my pets, and especially, Gracie.

Thank you. Thank you for everything. Words can’t express my gratitude and sorrow and love for you. I love you, Roxie. You were my best friend, always way more than “just” a horse.

Love,
ASC, age 20