hands that carry forward
I never thought it could happen, but my horse – must have known - when he gathered himself, muscles taut, and we cleared the fence as smoothly as any other afternoon. I leaned into his neck anticipating the thud of hooves as he landed. But this time there was no thud – only a weightless silence. Air rushed colder and brighter around us, reins trembled in my hands and Reverie’s mane streamed upward, not down.
We rose above the pasture, above the barn roof, above fields of corn and alfalfa. The higher we climbed, the more the air smelled of rain and old wood smoke, the scent of every storm and fire my family had ever endured. Then the horizon opened - not blue, but translucent, like glass… and through it, I saw them: the faces of my family. They floated in the air, each one lit from within, but not ghostly - vivid – as if life itself painted them brighter in death. My grandfather, who taught me to ride, tipped his riding hat at me, my aunt waved a hand damp with dishwater, Mom held a tennis racket and Dad sat smoking a cigarette.
Reverie kept cantering. I grasped his mane not in fear, but in awe, realizing that this ride was another kind of memory, taking me where the living and the dead still touched. Then, from within that gathering of faces, one turned toward me with such clarity I forgot to breathe. My sister's voice carried across the sky and said: “Don't be afraid Janie. We are together and it's so cool.” Jennifer’s tone sounded just it did like when I was scared at night when we slept in twin beds. For an instant the world felt whole, as if every sorrow had been folded into joy.
As suddenly as it began, I was back on the ground, my horse like it had never been. In its place, my hand closed around the small sticky fingers of my late sister’s granddaughter – Olivia. Her hand was warm, pulsing with that soft, steady rhythm of life. She looked up at me with wide, unknowing eyes. I felt the echo of my sister moving through her. It was as if the thread had not been cut, but woven differently – Jennifer’s laughter, her stubborn grace, her faith that love outlives the body… All of it now in the small bones and curious gaze of this child. Holding Olivia's hand was not only holding the present, but holding the past too, reminding me: nothing vanishes entirely. The sky above was just an ordinary sky again, but in my chest, I carried the sense of wings (still beating) carrying us both forward.
