On Falling and Getting Back On

She grooms the horse carefully, placing her hand near his tail when she walks behind, so as not to scare her.

My daughter talks to Lacey when she works, untangling the mane from her eyes and using the brush in circular motions to clean the dirt from her coat.

Both of their hair is ombre.

I watch how they talk to each other in the mid-morning sun and they are getting to know each other again.

It has been a few weeks since she saddled up and rode.

She hoists the blanket and western saddle onto Lacey’s back and tightens the leather slowly.
The bit is harder to place.  When it is finally done the leather frames Lacey’s face.

Suddenly they both look regal.

My daughter takes the reigns and they walk slowly up the path together to the arena. I trail behind and I hear her talking to Lacey as they walk. I feel my daughter’s soul relax.

Mine does, too.

She is an experienced rider.

But I learned a great deal about the relationship between a horse and a girl in the early days of her passion.

I remember all too clearly how she fell going over the wooden jump when she was nine.  The one she was sure of.  The one that nearly undid me.

They both fell.I had gasped.

I looked her square in the eye across the brown dusty path that divided us.

I wanted to know what had happened. I wanted to know that she was alright. I had wanted to run across that arena.

I didn’t.

My daughter explained the fall to her trainer and I had eavesdropped.  She had confused the horse with conflicting messages. She had asked  him to stop and go at the same time with her small leg gestures.

It seemed like a good explanation for the big fall. The gestures and the timing and the messages.  But my heart wasn’t ready.

I  wanted to help them both brush off and process and grieve a little bit about it all.  I wanted to check everything over a few times.  I wanted to search for bruises.

But before I could speak, she was back on the horse. 

Her head was held high and she was taking another lap around,  straight toward the jump. The one that they had attempted before~ the same one that made them both fall hard.

This time they both cleared it with confidence and poise.

I’m not sure I ever clapped so loud about anything. Ever. 

It was an overcoming.

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Today I watch her walk up this hill toward her future.

It feels like mine, too.

Being brave.  Knowing we are all going to fall.

Getting back on.