One of the most common pictures shared of the Kentucky landscape are pictures taken while driving in our state.  It is not uncommon to find pictures of random green pastures at sunset or sunrise captured by commuters driving to work on any given day. Some pictures include horses or rainbows, but it is the landscape that Kentuckians feel blessed to witness during their daily drives.

I am fortunate to work from home, but multiple days a week I travel to customers in KY, TN, or OH. In the past when the work day was complete, this travel time was part of my replenish time. While traveling the winding roads of beauty, I would pray (I have always been one to just have a conversation with my Father and what better time than while soaking in His beauty) or enjoy music and time to decompress. Since May 2017, this option for decompressing and transitioning to personal time has been stolen from me. Going a step further, the windshield time during the day that I would use to get ahead on calls or trouble shoot work problems eludes me. I cannot see past the fence posts.

Some know, others may not, Jack’s accident was at night on the beautiful winding roads of KY that were covered in fog and lulled him to sleep. What took his life was a fence post. No amount of air bags would have come to his aid. From that day forward, I couldn’t see past the fence posts. If you notice, they are in most pictures shared of our landscape, but they melt into the foreground or back ground as our eyes are drawn to the green pastures or incredible sun.  All I can see out my car windows are fence posts. I’m a detail person. I need to know how and why. At the encouragement of those that saw Jack following his accident (funeral director and coroner), we were encouraged to not see him. Evidently, fence posts create a great deal of trauma. While we will never know if not sitting with Jack following the wreck was the right choice, not having the details and specifics of what happened with that fence post left my mind to wonder. Did it come all the way out of the ground? Was it cut in half? Did it hit the front of the car and then go directly into the windshield? Did it hit his head or his chest? Again, we had the option to view the car, but why? Looking at the car might have filled in some holes, but what new questions would it raise?

For two years now I have glared at fence posts and lost hours of time imagining the destruction and damage a post can do to an 18-year-old boy. I have physical reactions to my core and often have trouble catching my breath when I drive these roads. My head knows this is a form of PTSD, but I can’t stop it. When my girls are on these roads, I hold fear close and remain unsettled until they arrive at their intended location.

Kentuckians see hundreds of fence posts in a day, but I would venture to say few recall them or give them much thought. Their focus is on the bigger picture. Many times a week, somebody I know posts a picture of this landscape to remind us of all of God’s beautiful handiwork.     Fence posts are an important part of Kentucky horse farms and landscape. They aren’t going anywhere. After two years of staring at fence posts and tearing up, I have to choose to look beyond the fence posts I have to be intentional to look past the posts and find the beauty. Be intentional. Find beauty. Know that obstacles, like fence posts, can blend in to the beauty or wreak havoc. Choose to see the beauty. Choose to #loveBIG.