Day Six--Divestiture

My sister Ronda died in April--ovarian cancer. I've been thinking a lot about her as I try to go about and pretend that my life is normal, that it can ever be normal now that my only sister is gone. I suppose over time I will develop that new normal everyone talks about--that I will think of her watching from beyond or being right beside me, but right now, I don't feel that way. I feel directionless and empty.

Today, Hannah rode her horse Precious, the beautiful, headstrong American Quarter horse mare that my sister gave her a few years ago. When she gave us the horse, Ronda was already suffering the ill effects of the cancer and several other disorders, including Type I diabetes, with its accompanying maladies, and Wegner's Disease. She had begun the divestiture that so many acutely ill people begin, even while there still seems to be some hope.

Hannah's had trouble with the horse lately. She'll be fine one day and then the next, she'll rear or buck or try to run Hannah into the bushes or a tree even. I want to get rid of the horse when she does that, but how do I tell my sixteen-year-old to sell a living, breathing memorial to her aunt.

But today, Precious was quiet. She did what she was directed to do, although I told Hannah, or maybe I just thought it, "Let's not ask for too much from her today. Let's have a quiet day." So we did. Hannah lunged her; she trotted and loped in big circles between the jumps in the center of the ring. Then Hannah got on her--walked and trotted--circling, stopping, backing. From time to time Hannah would reach down and pat the sweating neck.

A hot day--too hot for a fight.

When they were through, Hannah rode to the center of the ring, sighed and dropped her body down on the little dun's neck. The mare stood there, didn't move, and then slowly Hannah brought her body up, dropped the reins and barely tapped the horse's side with her heels.

Precious began to walk. Hannah didn't touch the reins. Into the middle of the ring, down the center. I laughed as she headed for the one spot of shade on the far side of the ring where she stopped and waited for Hannah to ask her to move again.

Until that moment I had been so angry at that little horse. She had tried to hurt my daughter, so I didn't want her in our lives anymore. Just one more obligation, an expensive one and sometimes a dangerous one--so strong and powerful and my daughter so small.

But Hannah wants this chance to conquer a powerful force. She needs it--at least for now.

So we will not divest ourselves of this expensive and troublesome animal, I thought as Hannah slid safely to the ground. We'll work with her and pay expensive vet bills and training bills to help make her safe, and we will wait for her to become the horse she is meant to be, the one my sister wanted her to be--for Hannah.