Yesterday was an emotional rollercoaster. The day started off well, but then we got a heart-wrenching call from our good friend at the farm. Through tears, he told us that his horse, CeCe, had slipped on the ice and broken her back leg. My wife and I rushed down to be with him. Despite the efforts of several vets, the inevitable decision had to be made, and CeCe was put to sleep.
Afterward, my heart felt heavier than lead. While I was in the barn filling hay nets for Jilly, something incredible happened. A little bird came to visit me. At one point, he even landed on my arm and then followed me back into the stable, singing and chirping with such determination. He stayed with me for about 15 minutes, showing no fear, and even posed for a picture.
That encounter shifted something in me. It pulled me out of my grief and filled my heart with gratitude—gratitude for the moment, for what I have, and for staying present in a situation I might once have run away from. When the call came, my mind wasn’t consumed with thoughts of myself, fear, or alcohol, as it might have been in the past. Instead, I was focused on being there for someone else, and for that, I’m deeply thankful.
Sometimes, life throws us into moments of deep pain and loss that feel unbearable, and yesterday was one of those days. Seeing a friend heartbroken over the loss of their beloved horse, CeCe, was a stark reminder of how fragile life can be. It was a heavy, sombre experience, and yet being present for them in their time of need brought a kind of quiet strength. In the past, I might have avoided such an overwhelming situation, but instead, I stayed and faced it. This reflects how much has changed within me. The experience reminded me that even in the darkest times, showing up for others can bring a sense of purpose and connection that helps ease the weight of grief.
The unexpected visit from the little Robin felt like a message from God—a moment of pure, unexplainable magic in the midst of sorrow. Its presence lightened my heart, reminding me to focus on the beauty and gratitude that can still be found, even in hard times. It wasn’t just a random encounter; it was as though the Robin knew exactly when I needed comfort. In those 15 minutes, I felt profoundly connected to something bigger than myself. It made me realise how far I’ve come—no longer running from pain or numbing it with distractions, but instead, being fully present, feeling it, and finding moments of grace within it. That little bird was a gift, a symbol of resilience and hope, and I’m holding onto that as I move forward.
A Robin’s Gift
Yesterday began in light,
but the day turned heavy—
a call, a cry,
a friend broken by loss.
CeCe, her strength now fragile,
lay beyond saving.
We rushed to stand beside him,
to carry the unbearable weight together.
In the barn, the silence pressed,
heavier than lead.
Grief settled like frost,
sharp and biting.
And then—
a flutter, a song,
a robin.
He landed gently on my arm,
a spark of life in the cold stillness.
Chirping with conviction,
he followed me into the stable,
unafraid, unwavering,
as though he knew.
Fifteen minutes of grace,
a message without words,
and my heart began to lift.
The sorrow was not gone,
but there was room now for gratitude,
for presence,
for staying instead of fleeing.
Once, I would have run—
into fear, into numbness.
But yesterday, I stayed,
for my friend, for CeCe, for myself.
The robin, a symbol of something greater,
reminded me of all I have learned:
to face pain,
to hold beauty,
to find hope.
In his song, I found strength.
In his wings, I saw resilience.
And in his fleeting visit,
I found myself.
