Nicki

I visited your Facebook wall yesterday.
I saw that some had left comments.
I did not.

Actually, I've never left a comment on your wall.
And you've never left one on mine.
No biggy. Over half of my "friends" will probably never leave a comment.
But you were a friend, nonetheless.


I thought about you as I drove home from work this morning.
Somewhere along the way I even turned the radio off.

I thought about your original house, and how amazed I was when I saw that the entry door opened directly to the steps to the upper level, and how the wall of the staircase was lined with all the ribbons you'd won at horse shows.

I thought about your original barn, and how large and sturdy it seemed, and about how it seemed like the builders had thought it out better than whoever had planned the house.

It was red, like old wood barns should be.


I remembered the horse shows, and I thought about Karen, and Sarah, and Michelle, and Sue, and Tonya, and little Barbie, and the other 4-H girls who were at the fair each year.

And of course, I thought of Val, because horses were more her thing than mine...but with a 5 minute refresher from you I bet I'd still place in an "Open Showmanship" class!

I thought about how patient you were with all of us, and how caring you were to not only us, but to all life.

I thought about all the horses that I still remember the names of.
You had the golden prize winning Palomino, Princess.
Karen had the seemingly untouchable brown and white Paint, Trinket, with the light blue eyes.
Val had fat little Cody...

And I thought about your other animals, and how it was just habit to glance into your yard on the way by to see if the pig and the goat were freely wandering about like dogs and cats do at other farm sites.

I thought of many things. Of God, and Heaven, and 44 being much too young.

I thought about the changes that I've seen over the years. How the original house was replaced by a smaller one that was set up with a pet grooming business in the basement, and how the original barn is no longer there, but the Hollyhocks come back year after year next to the new one.

I thought about our last visit, and how you seemed weakened physically but remained strong emotionally, and how we talked and laughed and made childish plans for you to stop by and see my new place when you were able to.

And then I arrived home, in the dark, with my headlights shining on the daylilies, coneflowers, and Black-Eyed Susans I'd recently planted.

I sat there in silence for a moment.

I thought "Where should I add some Hollyhocks... "

And then I went in and took a shower to remove the tear tracks.

I thought of you today.
And I will think of you again.
You will be remembered.
And missed.