The Words

We write the words.

Last night, I messaged with several members of our ad writing team as we waited for updates on our Tanner, HiCaliber CEO Romney’s son. We are a varied group: some married, some moms, some equine experts, some novices, some young, some who hide our grays. But our common talent is writing.

We write the words that find horses their forever homes.

Our reactions to Tanner’s crisis varied. Some of us vomited. Some drank. Some looked for signs in the universe. Some forced hugs onto our children. Some forced hugs onto our horses. Some prayed. We all cried.

Our common theme was, “I don’t have the words for this.” “I don’t know what to say.” “This is indescribable.”

We, the wordsmiths of HiCaliber, didn’t have the words.

So how do you find the words for something as excruciating and impossible as the death of a child?

As our writing team put it–through tears and alcohol and abject pain–it’s nearly impossible.

Mary McGrory, Washington Star columnist, offered the following advice to fellow reporters who admired her coverage of President Kennedy’s assassination and burial: “Write short sentences in the presence of great grief.”

Our messages to each other yesterday were brief, fragmented, and typo-riddled. Our great grief took away our words.

In a way, Tanner was ours, too. Our Village’s child, even though most of us had never met him in person. Romney is the leader of our village and Tanner was the light. Tanner, and his brother Travis and their future stepdad Darrell, gave Romney the lightness and joy needed after months and months of attending slaughter auctions, fighting the naysayers, and begging for money.

So what happens when the light goes out?

Some of us know; some of us have lost children and family before their time. For some, this is the first time the light has left, and darkness enters.

I know this darkness, and I do not have the words for it.

This week–in some absurd, sick way–may be the easiest for Tanner’s momma. There are Things To Do. Paperwork. Services. Travel plans. Food will be brought, fridges stocked. Daily calls and supportive messages received. Busyness and business. The Things To Do will keep her moving and almost distracted.

But then, after the services and the Things To Do are done, inevitably, the rest of us go back to living. For Romney, the weeks and months following this busy next one…well…this is where the darkness comes in.

This is also where the words come in.

We must remember in two weeks, or six Thursdays from now, or in five months, while we are busy with horses and carpool and babies and paying the rent, to not forget that Romney and Travis and Darrell may still be in the darkness. We must find the words.

Find them, write them, send them.

Those of us who know this darkness know that words matter; that a written check-in from a friend a month or three later can be a lifesaver. These messages may never be returned, but they will be read. And re-read.

For some of us, we must find those words first. And we, the writers, we together will fight the darkness.

They may be clumsy, lacking originality and sans punctuation, but we will write the words. We promise.
______

We write the words that save horses.
We write the words that save our friends.
We write the words that fight off the darkness.
We write the words that bring in the light.
We are the ones who will write the words.
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