Hope

My friend Sharion lies in a hospital bed. She is buried in tubes. Machines clink and hiss, feeding her, monitoring her, breathing for her. They keep her tied to the passing hours, the rising and setting sun, tied to us.
A quick jump from a young horse, and the rare instance of an unbalanced seat, has put her here.
Her family waits in quiet fear. They try to be gentle with one another, old transgressions set aside. For now at least, only tomorrow matters. The next day, the next hour, the next minute, each passing second is celebrated. Each moment that passes is another they still share as a complete family.
The weight of the future is settling on their shoulders. A volatile mixture of hope, anger, terror, and sorrow combine into a daily companion they will become uneasily accustomed to. New routines are becoming established. Routines that revolve around hospitals, doctors, life sustaining machines, a mother and wife.
As friends, we can only wait, hoping to hear that all is well, Sharion is hanging in there, things are going OK. For now, we are barred from seeing her, touching her hand, knowing for ourselves how things are.
We meet in a restaurant, shaken, and talk in low voices. Our fears and speculations whispered between us. Something this awful cannot be talked about in normal tones, our dark fears can't be released into the cheerful conversation flowing around us.
I first met Sharion when I brought my small training business to a boarding stable in eastern Colorado.
She was the barn manager. She was pleasant and efficient, and we took an instant liking to each other. We had a lot in common, we both earned our living with horses. We had given lessons at the same place, worked for some of the same people.
We both had three-year-old fillies we were getting ready for competition. I was teaching and training, Sharion had given it up to become a barn manager, and earn back her non-pro status.
We got along.
We took our fillies out on a gorgeous fall afternoon. Students, work schedules, and demanding clients fell far behind as we trotted through the golden prairie grass.
"Let's kick it up a little." I said.
Sharion grinned and pushed her little bay into a lope.
Our horses were happy to be out, and got caught up in the lure of the open fields ahead of us.
My filly snorted, and crow hopped, striking out with her forefoot in play.
Sharion's horse picked up the invitation and began to buck.
"Whoop!" Sharion hollered."Whoo Hoo!"
She burst out laughing as we reined in our rowdy horses.
"Aren't these little ones fun?" She was still giggling as she soothed her excited horse.
We put the horses back into the lope and took off across the prairie.
Sharion was a hand. She soon became my friend.
She turned me on to the world of cutting horses.
I showed her my life with reined cowhorses.
Our differences were small, and we found ourselves more alike as our friendship grew.
We admire each other for our toughness.
Both of us are frustrated artists, both too emotionally involved in our horses to become truly competent in professional competition.
Her kids are grown, my daughter is on her way.
We are goofy over our dogs.
Our husbands are long suffering, and do their best to be patient with our horse crazy world.
We both appreciate a good Margarita, and each other.
Now I wait, hoping to hear a good word to pass along the phone tree.
I think about her pretty, infectious laugh. Sharion is truly delighted by the world. It often makes her burst out laughing during the day.
She loves her family.
She loves her horses and dogs.
She was thrown from a horse, trail riding with friends on a beautiful day. Her favorite thing to be doing, her favorite place to be.
Sharion will remain in an induced coma for at least a month.
If all goes well, she is facing at least a six month stay in the hospital.
I hope the coma lets her dream. I hope her senses are filled with the smell of a breeze through the pine trees, and sweat soaked saddle blankets. I hope she's riding her favorite roan mare, and can feel the steady push of her strong legs on the trail. I hope she sees the dust pooling around each hoof, as the horse in front of her presses it's eager way home. I hope she can hear the happy snorts of a well ridden horse, the creaking of her cutting saddle, and the silly jokes of her friends.
I hope she slowly, steadily, works her way back up the trail, back to the family that loves her.
I hope she rides back to us, her friends, who ache to hear her laugh.