quiltersmuse.com Blog

For several years, I have had on my bookshelf a book that I truly had plans to read. It was not until yesterday that I took it down and began turning the pages, chastising myself all the while that I’d not looked at it sooner. My Mother’s Ghost by (now) well-known historian, Fergus M. Bordewich, is wonderfully written. Although it has taken him years to be able to write this true story, and to put all that happened into perspective, he does so with fine turns of phrase, and with a sincerity that helps the reader to become absorbed into the pain he felt in losing his mother, tragically, at an early age.

The accident was not his fault, although he felt guilt over it. His mother, riding a run-away horse in Vermont, that would not slow down, panicked and dismounted in flight, only to be trampled to death by her son’s galloping horse that was right behind her. This book shows the gamut of emotions that would encompass such an event that could not be un-done.

Moreover, his remembrances bring her to life again, even now, as he recalls her proficiency at writing, and at being an advocate for Native Americans, and her hobnobbing with politicians and V.I.P.s to effect changes in the world. Alas, he could bring her to mind, but not back to life, and therein lies the common grief of all of us who have loved and lost. That, I believe is what makes this piece of writing so vital. Above all, it reflects the human condition. Life can be snuffed out, like a candle, with virtually no warning. Then, all we have are memories.

In reading this book, I remembered a pretty little girl in the town where I grew up, and where my son spent his first formative school years. She was the most popular girl in class, with her long, curly tresses and fair skin. I am not certain, but I believe the accident happened when she and my son were in the first grade, but no later than the second grade.

Her parents had bought her a pony. Her Dad went into the house to use the restroom before removing the pony from the van. He told her not to go near the pony. She disobeyed. When he returned outside, there was no pony in sight and his daughter was missing, too. Her broken and bleeding body was found several miles down the dirt road where they lived. She’d been dragged, and she no longer breathed.

This senseless tragedy had a tremendous impact on the school children. For some, it was their first experience with Death. Oh sure, some of them had grandparents who had “passed on,” but old people are expected to die, not kids who have barely started their lives.

The similarity of the two stories is that they both involve sudden death, and they both are related to horses. The two components do not necessarily go hand in hand, but they can. It is a wake up call to all of us who work with horses or have children who are involved in horse-related activities. A little bit of caution goes a long way.

As a collective body of humans, we inwardly mourn when we hear of things like this. Our first sense is to ponder, and to wonder why. The second sense is to simply cry.

We have many lessons to learn along the road of life. Sometimes we can walk around the stones. Other times, we are faced with boulders that we must somehow get around, or get over, or drill our way through. As bad as life can get, there is comfort in knowing that yet another day will dawn. The sun always shines again, if we wait long enough.

Patricia Cummings