| DAWN |
| "The bud was spread to show the rose Our Saviour smiled; The bud was closed." Anon |
1/15/2007
This is one of the hardest memorials I've ever had to write. I don't
want to write it now, because writing a memorial brings home the
finality of it all. But as much as I've fought it these last couple of
weeks, the time has come to begin to let go, to begin to heal. For the
others in my care, it is time for me to write this.
Dawn passed away on New Year's day. Dawn, who was our miracle
girl. Who came to us a just year and a half ago, and who changed
so many of our lives forever. She made us believe-- truly believe--
that nothing is impossible; she made us see with our own,
incredulous eyes that with enough grit and determination she
could overcome the impossible. She fooled everyone who knew she
could not possibly survive. And she did it with a quiet dignity
throughout it all, with a look in her eye even on that first day that
dared us to give up on her. She inspired those of us most closely
involved with her to take our rescue work further.
If my sweet girl Pearl was the original inspiration for this rescue,
then Dawn was its very heart and soul. Dawn was the catalyst that
made me re-evaluate so many things in my life, and made me
more determined to work harder than ever to stop horrors like hers
from happening to others. Dawn didn't just teach me; she changed
me. She changed a lot of us.
Dawn passed away with the gentle hands of her vet guiding her,
and with her equine friends standing nearby. It was her time, and
she left easily and quietly. She is buried next to Dancer and Penny.
Dawn will never be gone. She lives on in so many of our hearts and
memories. She lives on because we need her to live on, to remind us
that we must never give up; we must help others. When we are worn
out and ready to give up, her memory will nudge us, reminding us
that giving up isn't an option.
It was never an option for Dawn.
This is one of the hardest memorials I've ever had to write. I don't
want to write it now, because writing a memorial brings home the
finality of it all. But as much as I've fought it these last couple of
weeks, the time has come to begin to let go, to begin to heal. For the
others in my care, it is time for me to write this.
Dawn passed away on New Year's day. Dawn, who was our miracle
girl. Who came to us a just year and a half ago, and who changed
so many of our lives forever. She made us believe-- truly believe--
that nothing is impossible; she made us see with our own,
incredulous eyes that with enough grit and determination she
could overcome the impossible. She fooled everyone who knew she
could not possibly survive. And she did it with a quiet dignity
throughout it all, with a look in her eye even on that first day that
dared us to give up on her. She inspired those of us most closely
involved with her to take our rescue work further.
If my sweet girl Pearl was the original inspiration for this rescue,
then Dawn was its very heart and soul. Dawn was the catalyst that
made me re-evaluate so many things in my life, and made me
more determined to work harder than ever to stop horrors like hers
from happening to others. Dawn didn't just teach me; she changed
me. She changed a lot of us.
Dawn passed away with the gentle hands of her vet guiding her,
and with her equine friends standing nearby. It was her time, and
she left easily and quietly. She is buried next to Dancer and Penny.
Dawn will never be gone. She lives on in so many of our hearts and
memories. She lives on because we need her to live on, to remind us
that we must never give up; we must help others. When we are worn
out and ready to give up, her memory will nudge us, reminding us
that giving up isn't an option.
It was never an option for Dawn.
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