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Archive 12/12/19 Just after I received the call from my friend at dispatch, informing me that there had been a burn over and the Granite Mountain Hotshots were missing, I walked to my barn and I fed my horses. Through my tears and my fear, I chucked hay into troughs. I had tried calling Eric, but my calls went to voicemail. Duane and Marvel picked me up and drove me to Prescott Middle School, where the Prescott Fire Department and Granite Mountain families were gathering. I got home very late that night, crawled into my bed and fell asleep. I awoke the next morning and I lay in bed, my eyes squeezed shut, sobbing into my pillow. I rose from bed, put on Eric's green flip flops and went out to feed my dogs and horses. For the next few weeks, all the local families sat in meetings, and we were told horrific things that we needed to know, we were asked to get dental records, we were asked to identify tattoos. Every day I rose from bed, the weight and the gravity of the situation overwhelmed and exhausted me, but I walked to the barn and fed my horses and dogs. Every night when I returned home, I did the same. The cycle of animal care. They needed me to continue showing up, and I needed to continue showing up. To have something in my life that was normal. Feeding animals, ordering hay from the feed store, that was normal. That made me normal.Eric's horse died not long ago. He was old and his life was well lived. One of our dogs has died, too. One thing I have learned is that the world does not stop to allow the bereaved to catch up. We have to keep trying. We have to keep going to the barn and feeding horses. We have to keep holding on to what makes us feel normal.💜19