Thanks for the Memories

When someone dies, you find yourself going over and over memories you didn't realize you had.  At least I do.  Of course, that's after you get over being so stunned that it seems your mind just isn't working any more.  That was me a few mornings ago, when I got a text telling me that a long time family friend had been shot and killed.  It wasn't just the loss of my friend, although "just" is not a word that can really fit into that sentence.  It was the intrusion of violence into my life.  I've lost loved ones to accidents and to sudden health disasters, but violence, a violent death caused by someone's malice, had never reached me before.  I love my murder mysteries, read them all the time, but I never expected one to find me or one of my friends.  There is a very real comprehension problem here.

The part I can comprehend is my friend's life and the memories I have of him.  Ross was my son David's trainer when he competed in horse shows.  One of my favorite memories goes back to the early days of showing.  It's horse show day and David and I are still new to the game.  We've made sure he has all the right equipment and David's looking spiffy in riding gear and trying to look confident.  I've loaded the car and am just doing the driving.  We arrive at the show, somewhere out on Long Island, and start to get ready when we realize we've got a problem.  We (okay I) forgot to put the saddle in the car.  Pretty basic, right?  I have no idea how to solve this problem.  You can't just run to the corner drugstore or even the nearest shopping mall and pick up a saddle.  So, in fear and trembling, we go to Ross to explain how much trouble we're in.

"Ross", I say, "we have a big problem."  Ross looks at me, expecting the worst, and I tell him we forgot the saddle. "Oh," he says, " I thought you meant a real problem."  Then, without moving from where he was standing, he calls out to someone else at the show and asks to borrow a saddle.  The next thing I know someone walks up and hands him a saddle.  Ross looks down at it to see what we've got.  He hands it to David and says: "Carry it carefully.  It's the best saddle you'll ever ride in."  It was Hermes.

That was my friend, Ross.  Always with impeccable good taste.  Always there for his kids, for his friends.  Don't rest in peace, Ross.  Ride in peace.  Ride well, my friend.