To Ride Again

My daughter has been asking me for the past few years to take her horseback riding. And I would absolutely LOVE to, only there aren’t too many places I know of that have horses for rent around here. And I don’t mean those wimpy “get on a horse and follow a guide down a trail” rides, either. Because when I DO take her riding, it will be REAL riding, and not that stupid “horseback for idiots” bullshit. This is because I grew up riding horses, thanks to my Uncle John.

My Uncle John was my mother’s youngest brother, and as the baby of eleven brothers and sisters he was extra special to everyone in the family. Especially to me. He was only fifteen when I was born, still a kid himself. He was crazy and fun and always made me laugh. And he introduced me to horses. As far back as I can remember, my Uncle John would take me horseback riding every year on my birthday, and several times in between. We started out riding my Grandpa’s horse, Pride, and then my uncle got his own horse, Duchess Bonnie.

There was nothing I loved more than driving with my Uncle John on a beautiful fall day out to the stables to go riding. He always listened to whatever I had to say, never judged me, and usually offered pretty good advice. The older I got, the more special these trips became. He taught me how to handle a horse correctly, and how to NOT wind up walking funny afterward. We NEVER went on group trail rides, he always rented me my own horse and he rode Bonnie and we took our own private voyage through the trails.
I loved galloping or running through the forest preserve, feeling the freedom, smelling the crisp scent of autumn leaves. One of my best memories was of the time when he first let me ride Bonnie on my own. I must have been about fourteen, and I knew how special it was. Uncle John NEVER let anyone else ride his Bonnie. Only me. And only in the riding arena – yes, I was special, but even I knew where the line was drawn. No one but Uncle John rode Bonnie on the trails! Anyway, Bonnie was a remarkable horse. It was almost like she could read your mind, the most subtle nudges could get that horse flying like the wind. And it was awesome. But the other thing that was awesome was the smile on my Uncle’s face and the gleam of pride in his eyes as he watched me handle her like a pro.

The year I turned seventeen turned out to be the last time we went riding together. My uncle died of a heart infection the following May at the age of 32. There was really no warning, and at the time I worked at the hospital he died in. I actually heard the code over the intercom, but the family was told he was going to be released that day, so I never thought it was for him. He had been admitted to the hospital for observation and tests, and never did get released. I can’t even put into words the loss I felt back then, or the loss I still feel now, almost twenty years later.

His wife told my parents that she knew he would have wanted me to have Duchess Bonnie, and it killed me when they said there was no way we could afford the upkeep of a horse. I didn’t even get to see her again before she was sold. And I haven’t been on a horse since.

I think part of the reason I never rode again was because I couldn’t imagine riding without my Uncle John, and part of it was just silly things – no time, no money, no desire. As the years passed, I realized how much I missed riding, but again, I never really found the right opportunity. I couldn’t see myself plodding along on an old mare who probably hadn’t galloped in years. If I was going to ride again, I was going to RIDE again. And finding a place that would let me have that freedom was nearly impossible.

When Lexie was born, my brother stepped into the shoes her deadbeat dad had left behind. And as she grew, I watched the two of them interact, and I saw myself and Uncle John all over again. I made it a point to tell her about “The Angel Uncle John” and what a special person he was, and that he was probably riding horses in heaven and watching over us. We even went to the cemetery one day when she was about three, and I sat and reflected on all that I had and all that I had lost. My Lexie wiped away my tears with a three-year-old’s concern, and parroted my words back to me, “Don’t be sad, mommy, the angel Uncle John is riding horses in heaven now and watching over us.”

Weeks went by and then one day at breakfast Lexie commented, “The angel Uncle John came to see me last night.”

I felt a chill go down my spine and turned to look at her. “Really, sweetie? So did he say anything to you?”

She shrugged her little shoulders and replied, “No. He just looked at me and smiled. Then he went away.”

Skepticism clouded my mind, but I asked one more question, “So what did he look like, Lex?” For all the times I had told her about the angel Uncle John, I had never showed her a picture. It wasn’t until a few years later that I came across some at my mom’s house. So her answer made my heart jump in my throat.

“He was tall, with dark hair. He was smiling and wearing jeans and cowboy boots. He was really nice.”

My Uncle John LIVED in cowboy boots. But there was no way Lexie could have known that. Part of me really WANTED to believe that my Uncle John was hanging around and looking out for us, but part of me was totally freaked out. Yes, I loved my Uncle John, love him to this day with my whole heart and soul, but I’m not sure I want to SEE him right now… after all, he had been gone for years. So I just let the whole thing drop with Lexie.

Until a few days later.

“The angel Uncle John was back again last night,” she informed me.

“Really?” I said.

“Yup, and this time he talked to me,” she said earnestly.

I tried to sound nonchalant when I asked, “So, what did he say?”

She looked at me and smiled and said, “He told me to take good care of my mommy.”

My smile froze on my face. “Really?” I asked again, more weakly.

“And then he went into your room and gave you a kiss.”

Somehow that made me believe her even more. I could definitely see my Uncle John telling her to take care of me, since he wasn’t there to do it. And my cheek seemed to burn with the possibility of having received an otherworldly kiss.

She never saw him again, and now at age ten doesn’t even remember seeing him back then. But I believe she did. They say small children and animals are more open to the spirit world, and I’m sure that’s true. And I’m also sure Uncle John took advantage of the opportunity to let me know he’s ok wherever he is, and that he’s still there for me in some special way.

And just the other day, I was talking to an attorney down the hall whose eighteen year old daughter is an accomplished equestrian, and I told him how I would love to take my daughter riding… how I would love to ride again myself. So guess what? He has invited Lexie and me down to his home where he has three horses and lots of trails to ride on. He said he is sure his daughter would love to show Lexie how to ride. We are planning going sometime next month, probably. And when I get back up on that horse, and feel the wind in my hair and the freedom, I will think of my Uncle John, and I will thank him for everything he shared with me while he was alive… and for the reaffirmation he gave me after he left.


Uncle John and Me riding Pride, probably in the early 70’s