Here I am

I didn’t mean to stop blogging for two months. It started as just two weeks during which I was mostly working and not riding, with nothing really to talk about.

Then my dad got sick. I’ve typed and retyped how to talk about this four, five, six times now, but the only thing I can say is that he started running a fever and then everything became a blur and then he was gone. In four weeks my whole world imploded.

I still honestly don’t know what my life is going to look like from now on. Some days it feels the same except for a huge, screaming black hole in the center of it all. Some days it feels like I stepped through the looking glass where everything looks the same but it’s all wrong in a way I can’t describe.

I haven’t been to the barn at all, really. Once or twice, to drop off a check or sort of pat Tristan on the nose. I’ve been keeping up with Etsy orders because I’ve been spending money like water. I may get back to blogging at some point. I’m just trying to keep going right now.

If you’ve followed my house posts, you met my dad. He was the best dad anyone could possibly ask for. I’m going to miss him forever.



21 thoughts on “Here I am

  1. Oh, no. I am so, so, so sorry. I am sending you and your family my deepest sympathy and warmest hugs. We unexpectedly lost my beloved father-in-law in August 2017 and we still miss him every day. But over time the happy memories start to feel like healing rather than needle-pricks of pain, and eventually the raw ache fades to something like a bruise. It sucks though, and I hate that you’re going through this.


  2. Oh my gosh, I am so sorry to hear this! I had missed you on my blog roll and recently wondered where you’d been. Hugs to you, it’s so hard to lose a parent but even harder when it’s so unexpectedly quick like that ❤


  3. My dad was diagnosed with cancer again (a third kind) last year and while he made it through treatment it really made me think about life without him, especially seeing him unable to do things that he had always done with ease before chemo including things around the farm for me and the horses. Your post really hit me hard and I can sense the rawness in it. Despite the fact that I haven’t experienced that kind of loss, I have imagined what it would feel like, and I expect it’s at least 10 times worse in reality. Hugs to you and your family. I hope you can find some peace in all the great memories.


  4. Words do absolutely no justice. I am beyond sorry to hear this and my heart absolutely aches for you. All of my love ❤


  5. I am so sorry Amanda. I had missed you on social media and wondered. I experienced this with my grandfather…he was strong as an ox. Survived 20 years beyond a bone cancer diagnosis where he had only been given months to live. Tried to retire and couldn’t because he needed to keep busy. He was my world, the one that made all of my dreams come true, and the glue that kept our family together. One day he developed a cough…and a few days later he was in the hospital…two weeks later he was gone. I know exactly how you feel, and my heart aches for you. You eventually learn to live without them, but the hole is never filled: you never stop missing them. It just hurts less.

    Huge hug. My thoughts are with you. ❤


  6. My heart goes out to you. I lost my dad 8 years ago in a similar abrupt fashion. I still have to slam down virtual metal gates in my mind not to think about it, or the day is lost. Such a hard loss.


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