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"Rolo Basko +//, A True Angel"
"Remembering Kainen"
"My Savannah"
"About Hannah"
"A Mother's Letter About Jay"

olo Basko +//, A True Angel...
By Tracy Kujawa

Rolo Basko +// was one of the most classic Arabian horses ever bred. His pedigree was a "who's who" of the Arabian world. A grandson of the immortal Arabian stallion Bask, Basko was destined to be a great show horse with an attitude to match. If you looked up all the titles and awards he has won over his show career, it would be pages and pages. Basko has multi National and Regional wins in several categories, including The Canadian Reserve National Champion Working Cow Horse with Bobby Hart, Jr.

Basko was donated to the Angel Heart Farm by his then-16-year-old owner Eric Mrosko. Eric was a typical teenager who get interested in football, cars and girls, while Basko just hung out on his family farm in Illinois. Eric came from the same show barn I show from. Eric and his family knew I was starting the Angel Heart Farm, and they were interested in helping out in some capacity. Little did I know what lay ahead.

Angel Heart Farm enables children with chronic and life-threatening illnesses to become care givers instead of care recipients. Angel Heart Farm chose the Arabian horse as our primary breed for several reasons: their beauty, stamina and pure willingness to please. After years of showing my own beautiful Arabian mare Khuryia and battling cancer, I knew the power that horses have to heal the body, mind and spirit. I created the program knowing God kept me here for a reason and put horses in my life, not only for my own joy, but to show others the positive effects they give.

One summer day in 2001, my trainer Brian Scoggins called and asked me if I would like to have Basko in the program. Of course, I said "yes" with tears in my eyes, knowing that the beautiful white gelding would be the model for Angel Heart Farm. The Mrosko family felt that Basko would have a wonderful life at the farm, and they knew his life's work was yet to come.

The day Basko arrived in Tennessee was very special. He came off the trailer looking more regal than ever. His white soft mane and flowing white tail were such visions.

There are many great stories to tell about Basko, but there is one that will always remain in my heart and mind.

Amber came to the Angel Heart Farm knowing that cancer was going to take her short life. She dreamed of riding a white horse. Each time eight-year-old Amber arrived at the farm, she had on a little jacket with butterflies on it, her bald head and big blue eyes always filled with excitement, never despair.

Amber picked Basko as her special mount. His soft brown eyes and long white tail fascinated her. She told me Basko looked like an angel, and when she climbed aboard this special horse, I really felt like there were two angels gracing the paddock.

With Amber on his back, Basko knew that he was carrying special cargo. His walk was a bit slower, but with each step they took together, Amber's smile grew larger and then bits of laughter came through.

The last time Amber came, she was too weak to ride, but she gently walked to Basko's stall and hugged and kissed his soft white neck. Amber told me that she and Basko would always be together and that she would ride him in heaven.

A week later Amber died.

While riding Basko one early afternoon, a little yellow butterfly fluttered around us. It stayed throughout our ride.

A few weeks later, Basko was having his feet trimmed and another butterfly fluttered around him for a few minutes and flew away.

A few more weeks had passed. Basko was having his fall shots, and there were three little Monarch butterflies hovering around him. Each time these little butterflies came around, I thought of Amber with her little butterfly windbreaker jacket and those big blue eyes.

I told my farrier and vet about each instance, and they both said Basko had an angel watching over him.

Basko's job was to be an angel for those special children. Little did I realize that he would have his own beautiful Angel Amber watching over him.

Taking care of this sweet white gelding was one of the best jobs anyone could ask for. He was always willing and ready to give his heart to anyone. He was not only a wonderful show horse, but also a true gift from heaven.

In the book of Revelations in the Bible, God returns to Earth on a great white horse. I can't imagine Him riding any other horse other than our Angel Rolo Basko.

Sunrise: April 20, 1983. Sunset: September 12, 2006.

emembering Kainen...
By Jonah Keitner, Chairman of the Lewis County Board of Commissioners

I am writing this letter in regards to Angel Heart Farm.

I found out about AHF in 2005 after my late son, Kainen Keitner, was diagnosed with stage four cancer.

Kainen was a patient undergoing treatment at Vanderbilt Children's Hospital when we saw an advertisement in the oncology department. Shortly thereafter, my wife and I asked the staff and doctors at VCH about Angel Heart Farm, and we received nothing but positive feedback from them. We quickly decided it would be a wonderful place to take our son, so that he could enjoy the outdoors and ride the beautiful horses we had seen in all the brochures.

When we arrived at Angel Heart Farm, Miss Tracy enthusiastically greeted us and made us feel right at home. Kainen was so excited about getting to tour the ranch and ride one of the horses there all by himself. For a brief time, he was able to put away all the pain from the radiation and chemotherapy treatments and just be a kid. It was a wonderful experience that I, nor my family, will ever forget.

Kainen went back to the farm several times over the next year, and each time he was treated like a king by Miss Tracy. There was a special horse named Cisco Pete that Kainen rode often, and he loved Cisco Pete like he was his very own. Kainen enjoyed riding this horse so much that not long after our first visit, I bought him a Shetland pony, which he admiringly named Cisco.

Because Kainan is now in heaven, my wife and I, along with his little sister, still have his pony at our home with reminders of the joy we saw in Kainen's eyes each time he visited Angel Heart Farm.

Writing as someone who has personally seen his child filled with overwhelming joy by Angel Heart Farm and Miss Tracy, they do the best job of putting smiles on the faces of children with life-threatening illnesses.

Your support of this program would be greatly appreciated by my family and countless others across the state of Tennessee.

y Savannah...
By John Swandal

My name is John Swandal, and in February of 2006, my then six-year-old daughter Savannah was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer.

As you might imagine, Savannah and I went through many painful emotions during that year as she underwent extremely uncomfortable chemotherapy and radiation procedures, as well as facing the uncertainty of how, or even if, they would work to prevent her life-threatening illness.

However, we were blessed enough to find angels in the form of Tracy Kujawa and her horses at Angel Heart Farm.

When we met Tracy in April, 2006, at her farm in Nolensville, I honestly did not know what to expect in terms of how "riding horse" could possibly help Savannah's impossible situation. I very quickly learned just how invaluable she and, especially her pony, Rocky, would be. The healing power of Tracy's caring, positive attitude and the horses' gentle natures could not have been replaced by any doctor, treatment, etc.

I had always loved being around horses, having grown up around them in my early childhood, so I thought it would be a great opportunity to see if Savannah shared that interest. She took to it immediately, and she wanted to spend as much time as she could out there.

The main thing I want to stress here is that Tracy's charitable work allows these sick kids, my daughter included, to feel a sense of normalcy and forget about the life or death fight they are in, if only for a little while. It also allows parents like me the chance to share precious moments with our children without the stress or worry about what tomorrow may bring.

bout Hannah...
By Brandi Greene

We met Tracy just in time.

Hannah had already completed her toughest part of her treatment, and her spirit had suffered dearly from it. Hannah's tumor had not grown in months, and she just had maintenance treatments to complete. But, to look at Hannah, would have thought that her time was drawing near. She felt very little reason to get up in the morning. It killed my heart to think what a miracle it was that she beat an "unbeatable" monster, yet felt very little will to live.

Hannah had always loved horses, and she wanted to learn to ride. It just seemed like a natural step to start her in the Angel Heart program.

Hannah loves having the opportunity to ride and care for the horses. She has always believed that she posses a super connection to animals, and she loves learning all she can about them.

It is wonderful how the program includes the rest of the family, as well. Hannah's little sister, Felicity, who usually feels left out, rides as the same time. So, they both share each other's excitement and experience.

The girls possess an inner-confidence given to them by the program, through the ability to care for something bigger than themselves. In Hannah, I see it in something as small as the imagination to play with her plastic toy horses, and in something as big as the desire to become a large animal doctor when she grows up!

Mother's Letter About Jay Gaskins...
By Cindy Gaskins
www.jayshope.org

On September 16, 2004, my two-year-old son Jay was diagnosed with brain cancer. It took at least three weeks for it to sink in. Just the word CANCER was surreal to me. My first thought was that someone had made a huge mistake. Cancer happened to older people, unhealthy people, other people...not to my child. During the whirlwind weeks that followed Jay's diagnosis, I was in shock and in complete denial. Never in my wildest dreams did I think something like this would happen to my family.

Based on the type of tumor and Jay's age, we chose St. Jude Children's Hospital for treatment. Jay and I (and the baby on the way) would have to move to Memphis for six months to a year. Separating our family, leaving our home, our friends and our comfortable lifestyle was heart-wrenching. I remember feeling so alone. There was a hole in my heart, an emptiness in my soul, and I grieved for the life I once knew. The future that had seemed to be so bright, was now darkened with uncertainty.

It had been weeks since Jay’s surgery, and we were anxious to get the ball rolling with treatment. After checking into a hotel, we were bused over to the hospital for a tour of the facility and to meet our new treatment team. Reality slapped me in the face and sucker punched me in the gut as we walked the halls of St. Jude. There were children of all ages, many with exposed bald, scarred heads, others were wearing do-rags or baseball caps. The waiting rooms were filled with sick children in red wagons, riding tricycles, pushing walkers, in wheelchairs and attached to IV poles. Parents, Grandparents and siblings occupied the chairs and benches while waiting for their child’s next appointment. Many of them appeared tired, tattered and broken. My first impulse was to grab-up my family and run through the nearest door. I shouted out to God in my head, "Oh, God I don’t want to be one of these people! We don’t belong here! I will do anything to be 'normal' again!"

I am currently in the middle of reading "Everybody’s Normal Till You Get To Know Them" by John Ortberg. John tells a story about moving his family to a new city, and how his oldest daughter had a tough time adjusting to her new surroundings. She felt like an outsider. While sharing her feelings with her dad, she painted the perfect picture of vulnerability with one statement: "I feel like a little mouse that doesn’t have a hole." John goes on to describe the mouse as "a little creature scampering about in the midst of danger it cannot control, desperately trying to find a safe place to be welcomed into".

For so long after Jay’s diagnosis, I felt lost, vulnerable, and disconnected. In the blink of an eye, the security that I once had in my so called "normal" life was gone. Similar to the mouse, I was desperately trying to find my place. My hole. In my old life, I had lost my sense of belonging, and in my new life, I felt like a foreigner. I had vanished my own self to the island of misfits.

Last Spring, I had the pleasure of meeting Miss Tracy at another fund raiser where I was speaking. She invited us out to the farm and due to my children’s love for horses, we took her up on her offer. Every time we visit Angel Heart Farm, I am reminded of what a blessing it has been to our family. For my husband and I, it has become a sanctuary of solace and serenity...a small glimpse of heaven. Just for the day, we can enjoy being together as a family and leave our troubles behind. For my children, the farm has become a "safe place". Jay doesn’t have to worry about keeping up with others or curious questions about his hair or scars. Miss Tracy makes sure he knows that he is the best little cowboy this side of Tennessee. Kaitlyn loves every aspect of the farm. Not only does she love to ride, but she also enjoys the grooming, feeding and even cleaning stalls. My two year old Tanner loves the freedom he has to run around chasing the cats, petting the dogs and horses and he even gets to ride Cisco the disco king. At Angel Heart farm we have discovered that we are normal. Maybe not normal by society standards, but in our little world, we have found some normalcy.

In the book "Everybody’s Normal Till You Get To Know Them", the author sums it up by saying, "The yearning to attach and connect, to love and to be loved, is the fiercest longing of the soul. Our need for community with people who understand us is to the human spirit what food and air and water are to the human body" (John Ortberg). I thank God for fulfilling our longing our community by placing Miss Tracy and her horse angels in our lives. We have been surrounded and blessed beyond measure by people who love us and accept us for who we are. Yes, we have found our mouse hole, and we are normal again!

Just for fun, I have come up with a list of what "normal" looks like to us.

Normal is:

Kissable bald heads

Your child having more scars than Frankenstein.

Explaining to other children why Jay doesn’t have hair.

Your child’s "buddy" is his central line.

Planning your days and evening around medications, Physical Therapy , dressing changes, and line flushes

Having a syringe, a Urine Analysis cup, medical tape and Elamax creme in your purse at all times.

Losing count of the number of times Jay has been admitted to the hospital.

When your child’s room has an oxygen tank, an IV pole, and "Hazardous Waste" written on the side of his trash can.

Your child learning how to sit-up, crawl, and walk all over again.

Potty training your three year old for the second time.

Memorizing the consent forms for treatment and anesthesia.

Running out of room while listing Jay’s "previous surgeries" and "medications now taking" on a new patient form.

Being able to start, stop and reset an IV and feeding pump in your sleep.

Knowing more than the doctors know.

Mastering pushing an IV pole with one hand, and pulling a wagon full of kids with the other.

When all the stuffed animals and baby dolls in your house have central lines and ports.

When your four year old can identify his Hickman Line and pronounce Medulloblastoma, but he hasn’t mastered his ABC’s yet.

Coordinating Jay’s clothes to match his blue surgical mask when his counts are low.

Making balloons and turkeys out of surgical gloves and water guns with syringes.

Your kids referring to blood as ketchup and cool-aid.

When Goldfish, Kraft macaroni, and a milkshake is considered a nutritious meal.

Avoiding fast-food restaurants =with playgrounds because of all the germs.

Your children having their very own bottle of Purel, and they use it without being told.

Being able to drive to Memphis blindfolded.

Explaining to your children why so many of their friends have gone to live with Jesus.

Being told that your child may never grow without growth hormones.

Being told that your child could be mentally retarded from all the treatment.

Rushing to the doctor’s office and fearing the worst for every little fever, sniffle, headache or upset stomach.

Having a sick feeling in your stomach with every MRI.

Being told that there is no longer a cure for your child.

Having hope that they have it all wrong.

Believing and trusting in God no matter what happens.

Thanking God every morning for one more day.

Trying not to count the days, but making the days count.

Witnessing a miracle over and over again.

Normal is finding the ultimate comfort, security and acceptance with the only one who cannot be shaken, who will never leave me or forsake me, and in whom I can trust completely.

*William "Baby Jay" Gaskins WON his battle with cancer as he skipped through he gates of Heaven on March 31st, 2006.