when i was little, i didnt play with dolls, didnt like the color pink and never played with princesses, but i did think i was a princess( in fact i still think that). i liked horses, no i loved horses. i could spend hours at the barn. and am part of a small group of people in the world who firmly believe that a barn full of horses is one of the most intoxicating smells on earth.
i had this trainer who was 6 feet tall, had grey hair, had skin like leather from the years outside and was tough as nails. she did not sugar coat anything. on the rare occasion that i found myself on the ground, she would tell me "cowgirls dont cry and to get back on my horse, it was the only way to become a better rider." those were harsh words to hear when you are 7 years old, but i am beginning to think there is some truth to what she said.
for the past year or so i have met my dear friend and her son at a local diner every friday for a toasted cheese sandwich. it was there that we would discuss life, pregnancy, childbirth and how tommy and cooper were going to be best pals. we looked forward to the day that cooper would join us for our weekly trip to the diner. we met at the diner today for the first time since cooper was born. and while it was hard for me to go, there was something comforting about resuming our weekly ritual.
on my drive home, i heard a song on the radio, that mimicked my horse trainers mantra. and while i realize i have to get back on the "horse" in order to heal, there are days that i just dont know how. the grief and pain is just too overwhelming. but i know that small things like going to the diner are steps forward and small steps are going to help my heart.
and while my trainer may have been right about getting back up when you fall, she was wrong about one thing, cowgirls do cry.