A Different Word than Died

I did not know, when I shared part of Domyno's story, that I would soon be living its final chapter.

Only a short time after I released it, my beautiful Domyno completed her life.

She was twenty-seven years old.

As I've looked through old photographs these past few days, I've realized how deeply she is woven into the story of this ranch—and into mine.

Domyno captured my heart the day she was born.

I wanted to spend as much time with her as I could.

That summer, I took on an extra writing job so I could earn enough to purchase her when she was weaned.

Years ago, writing brought Domyno into my life.

Today, writing helps me tell her story.

It feels like a circle I never could have planned.

Domyno was one of my first riding horses. With her, I began my journey into trick training. But perhaps her greatest gift was teaching me to love new life.

Her first foal was named Indee. Although he wasn't part of my plans, that summer he wobbled into my life on unsteady legs. As he grew in strength, I laughed as he sprinted away from his mom, only to return when she nickered. She was never far away. Watching them together, I fell in love with being part of the unfolding of new life.

Now spring is my second Christmas, as I wait for the new foals to be born.

Domyno gave me this gift. She shaped this part of the story I am still living.

For some time, I sensed her life was drawing toward its completion.

She spent more time resting and quietly watching the world around her.

We spent time together.

Remembering.

Yet I kept hoping. Maybe this wouldn't be the final chapter. There had been other seasons when I thought I might lose her, only to have her recover.

Every day she lived felt like another gift.

On the day she completed her life, she spent it the way she had spent so many others.

Grazing beside Indee.

Stopping for a drink.

Resting in the summer sunshine.

Her life reached its completion in the most ordinary of ways.

That afternoon, as my tears flowed, I searched for a different word than died.

Completed landed in my heart like a soothing balm.

The word carried peace. Not because it made me miss her less, but because it helped me see that there was nothing more to add to her life.

Her chapter was full.

Yet the gifts she gave are still on the ranch.

In Indee. In the other horses that call Domyno mother.

I have shed many tears over the past few days. Even though I tried to prepare for her passing, I wasn't ready.

Are we ever?

Even Indee has been different. Usually, he likes to play tag before I catch him, but after Domyno was gone, he stood quietly beside me. In those first moments, he called for her again and again.

She had been his closest companion since the day he was born.

---

As I look through the old photographs, I realize that although her life reached its completion, her influence has not diminished.

Her story is complete.

Its influence isn't.

It echoes through the stories still being written.

In every descendant of hers that grazes these pastures.

In every spring morning that fills me with anticipation as I wait for new foals.

In every lesson she taught me.

Even in these words.

Writing brought Domyno into my life.

Now, writing is one way her life continues to touch others.

Her chapter can be complete while its influence continues to unfold.

I wonder if there's a reason we have two hands.

One to hold grief.

The other to hold gratitude.

Today, I hold both.

Tears for the mare I miss.

Smiles for the stories we shared.

Twenty-seven years is a long time.

Yet it doesn't seem long enough.

Domyno's life is complete.

But the hope she left behind still walks through these pastures.

Next spring, I'll wait again for new life to emerge from hidden places. Another granddaughter or grandson of Domyno will take a first breath.

And somewhere in the quiet waiting, I will remember the mare who first taught me to love new life.

If you’d like the fuller story of Domyno and her foals, born 18 years apart, you can find it here.