The Circle of Horse Friends
Most of my Saturdays are regular old ranch-chore days, but last Saturday was special. I was able to join the circle of horse friends who came forward to help the area horseman who lost his barn, equipment, and several horses to a fire. (See my previous post.) We all showed up at a local fairgrounds to participate in a benefit show, drop off donated goods and envelopes of cash, and offer our condolences and support.
Besides helping someone survive a tragic loss, I think we also got some benefits of our own. A big one: Having an action-oriented way to deal with our own feelings in the wake of the fire. There wasn't one person there who hadn't thought about losing his or her own horses in a fire and been horrified by the mental picture. With the exception of those whose horses DID perish, there wasn't anyone there who didn't feel a sense of guilty relief because it hadn't happened to them. And there wasn't one person there who didn't experience a sense of pride over the way horse people come together in a crisis to give aid to one of their own. That tangle of emotions found an outlet that soothed many troubled hearts.
Some folks find it difficult to be in the presence of the bereaved. Others know what it's like to be the bereaved, and therefore understand the healing powers of the simplest supportive act. That's one of the things you come to learn from living through a tragedy or crisis of your own: You don't think twice when it's time to help someone else get through his.
posted by Juli Thorson @ 8:29 AM
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1 Comments:
The morning of the schooling show following the fire was one of the hardest mornings I've been through in my life.
We all met at a friends house to finalize a game plan for the schooling show. Lewiston was wrapped in a blanket of fog that I thought was so fitting. Those of us who lost horses and our friends in the barn huddled together to protect one and other from falling to far down the depths despair. As we waited for him to arrive I took a cell call outside. His truck pulled in the drive at the same time I was hanging up. He looked as though he'd been drug through a knot-hole and his swollen face showed the price he was paying for his life long love of horses.
After saying hi and pointing out the gifts in the back of my truck that had been donated by my family and another client of his, he nodded and shadow crossed his face. My sholders fell because I knew he was thinking of the lost equipment those gifts were replacing. He said thank you and mentioned that a cliet had called that morning while heading up to the Round-up Grounds, which has become our foster barn, he was going to tell them to brush down a couple of the horses, but it occured to him until then that he didn't even own a brush...
I thought I heard his voice break just then and maybe it was just my imagination but I swear I saw his face twitch and that was all it took to push me over the fine line of greif and determintion I'd been walking all morning. My wide eyes glossed over with tears and I reached out with a small hug. He pulled away and in a deep graveled said "don't..." he ducked his face away quickly walking around toward the back of his truck. I watched him take his face out of hands and a couple of deep breaths in an effort to compose himself - so did I, then went inside. Everyone in the kitchen looked at me and asked if he was coming in. "Yes," I said "in a little bit" - seeing the redness of my face and glossed over eyes they understood and tried thier best to distract me with questions of other things and plans for the day.
Later during the show I lost my own composure, on and off through-out the day. My little 11 year-old friend had sent an envelope with another person who was traveling to the benefit show, to me knowing I would honor her request and deliver the envelope personally to him. It also came with the message "no one is supposed to open it accept him." Honoring her wishes I stuck it under my arm and walked it up to the show office stand which was where we were gathering donations and cards to be handed over later when the emotions of the day had passed.
The envelope, in typical kid fashion, was taped shut at least fifteen times. It was bulky with cash and maybe a letter or drawing or two (I'll never know for sure) and jingled with coins. On the outside there was, in little kid writing in permanent marker, his name on one side and it read on the other "Please don't tell my mom or dad how much I gave you. Love ____"
That was it. I was a gonner. The tears back, the sorrow came back, the images of my young black colt dying in the fire came back - I hurried and left the office as I was only upsetting everyone around me. I walked back to the barn and with tears clouding in vision I stumbled over to my remaining horses. Leaning up against the cold steel rails of their stall doors and let my tears roll down my hot cheeks unchecked. It just didn't seem right or fair, there should be one more horse horse here, there should be three not two. I don't know how long I stayed there, I had lost track of time and was surprised when a another trainer, and super good friend of our barn walked around the corner. I tried to make a get away and to hide my tears, but he grabbed my coat with a good enough grip that I wasn't going anywhere, and swung me around to give me a big bear hug, "I am so sorry about your colt" he said, and hung on a bit longer before letting go. "Thank you - me too" I said in that deep graveled greif laced voice I was getting used to.
This small gift of a hug in just the right needed time lifted me up to where I could function again. It was the best gift I have had in a long time. I straightened up a bit dried my face and walked outside to what was now a partly sunny sky.
Toward the end of the day while I packing up to head home I saw him get up on a horse who was giving his rider some trouble. It was good to see him ride again. A little later while walking to my truck, with my friends who had surrounded me for most the day in a circle of love and protection I saw him leave the arena riding the same horse with a cell phone glued to his head. At that moment it seemed as though something was righted, something had put us on the track to "normal" again. We would be okay, we would make it, and this summer despite it all, or maybe inspite of it all we would be back in the showring and doing what we love to do.
Grief is the price we pay for love.
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