Excerpt
THE LAST CHRISTMAS RIDE
By Edie Hand with Jeffery Addison
On Christmas morning, the day before Terry’s funeral, I threw myself into the task of putting away what was left of all the food that friends and neighbors had brought by. I gathered up and tossed out some of the live flowers that were beginning to wilt and shed their petals on Terry’s hand-sanded hardwood floors. Then I traightened up the house so even Mother would have been satisfied with the results. Then there was nothing else left to do. Mark was coming to get me that afternoon, and we were headed home to get ready for the visitation that night at the funeral home. Mark wasn’t due for another couple of hours yet, and I flipped on the television. There were only a parade and some football games on, and I wasn’t in the mood for either. The Christmas songs on the radio were too merry for my mood.
Finally, I pulled on my coat and walked down to the barn where Terry’s horses were stabled, protected from the sudden deep chill that had descended upon us over the last couple of days. I wasn’t sure where I was headed when I began my walk, but something seemed to be leading me toward the barn.
I fed the horses some sugar cubes and made sure there was hay available if they were hungry. Several people who were interested in buying them were coming by in the next few days. We hated to split them up, but knew they would be going to good homes, to places where they would be cared for almost as well as Terry did. Even though it looked as if it was about to rain or snow at any minute, a sudden whim hit me.
I saddled my brother’s favorite horse, the one he had ridden on that warm afternoon only a week earlier. I ducked my head at the doorway and guided her out of the barn into the mist, then through the open gate and out across the pasture. I still had no idea where I was going, so I mostly gave the animal her head. She seemed perfectly willing to drive.
We ended up beneath the bare limbs of David’s and my special oak tree. Even without leaves, it seemed as tall and strong and healthy as it had decades ago when my brother and I sat in its cool shade and held our brother-and-sister heart-to-hearts. For a moment, I thought I could hear voices—maybe even our voices—but it was only the icy wind whistling through the naked branches of the tree. From there I steered the horse on over to the base of the Indian mound, which wasn’t far away. Unlike the oak tree, the mound didn’t seem quite as tall and steep as it did when we were kids. I dismounted, climbed up, and sat beneath one of the cedars that now covered most of the flat ground on top. It occurred to me that several of those trees would have made great Christmas trees, cut and trimmed and dragged back to the house behind the horse the way we used to do it.
It was cold and damp up there. The wintry wind now bore tiny grits of snow, and the darkening sky promised more would follow before long. But I sat there for a while anyway, listening to the fussing crows and to the distant whoosh of traffic on the highway down the way. I half expected to see Mrs. Magoo and her brood of kids pass by, her with her elbow stuck out and a cigar in her mouth and her kids hanging out every open window of her old station wagon. Or to hear the hoof beats of Polly and Spotted Cloud and Trigger, the whooping laughter of my brothers riding at a gallop across the far hill, coming my way chasing outlaws and rustlers, slaying dragons, and harassing King Kong.
I looked down at the horseshoe pendant Terry had given me the day after his first surgery. I had kept it with me because, with it around my neck, Terry was always with me, too. I took it between my cold fingers and reveled in its warmth and felt the spreading peace in my heart.
I had done what I had promised my brother in those darkest times that I would do. I had helped him make his last ride, exactly as he requested. That simple promise had given him hope when he had little else.
And I had kept my promise to God. There had been plenty of times through the years when I questioned Him, angrily shook my fist at Him, wondered why He had given my family and me so much sorrow to handle, so many burdens to bear. Now I knew for certain why things had happened as they did. It was just as Grandma Alice explained it to me.
“Edith, God gives us tests to make us stronger. He needs you to be especially strong because He has big plans for you. Don’t let Him down, sweetie. Do your best and you’ll get your reward here on earth. And then again in glory land, too.”
God gave David a short but happy life. He led Phillip to His mercy before he suddenly took him home. He allowed Terry to be a tall, strong tree, an inspiration to others, including me. Then he gave Terry the strength to make that one last Christmas ride. He allowed me to survive three bouts with cancer so I could be right there with my brother to help him to make that final ride.
Along the way, God gave me the insight to know, and some loving folks to keep reminding me, what His purpose was for me as I journeyed through this life. He blessed me with the ability and the opportunity to do good for as many other people as I could along the way. As Grandma Alice had explained so many years earlier, He had tested me mightily to see if I was up for the challenge.
There were tears in my eyes as the first big, wet flakes of snow began to fall, catching in the branches of the cedars like angel hair. I hurried back down the hill and climbed back up on Terry’s horse. We galloped toward the house at a pace even David would have appreciated.
My ride was almost over, but I had a new resolve. I had to make sure, starting right that minute, that I made the most of what was left of my life’s journey. But I also had to make certain to enjoy the sights along the way. I owed that much to my Grandma Alice and to all the others who had gone on before me.
With the wind and snow in my face and this strong, beautiful horse carrying me toward home, I said a quiet prayer, promising God that I would faithfully do the best I could to do His bidding.
And I thanked Him with all my heart for allowing me to be there for that last, wonderful Christmas ride.
©2007 by Edie Hand and Jeffery Addison. Except for the use of short portions for review purposes, this excerpt may not be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission of the copyright holders.