In memory….

Yesterday, the only sound in a small section of the Osage was the snapping sound of a flag in the crisp December wind.

The solid, echo-less notes filled the air as a soldier paid a bugling tribute to an old Oklahoma cowboy.

The Cowboy and I stood there both fighting back tears. His for the memories of a true cowboy and a good man. One born on a ranch, raised on horseback and toughened by the times. Sent on a tour of the world courtesy of the US government while his young wife stayed home and waited.

A good amount of my tears were for her. I know that God has another cowboy in his bunkhouse. But I cannot wrap my heart around what it would feel like to be with someone for sixty plus years and then wake up to find them gone. But I know that every moment that I’ve gone through as a young cowboy’s wife and mother….she’s been there.

She stood there once and pledged to love someone that she knew was wild and full of dreams. She had his babies, raised them and probably felt like killing him a few times in the process. She’s prayed for rain…not just for the pastures and ponds, but for the short amount of time it forces the cowboy to stay indoors. She learned how to handle a man as strong as leather and as hard headed as the red, dry Oklahoma ground, while understanding that deep down, he’s still just a boy that dreams of spending some time down at the creek with a pole and some worms.

I’m convinced that all of the trials and tribulations that a wife goes through help to toughen her for this moment. Every prayer said was practice for this moment.

He’s up there right now riding though bluestem so deep that it’s brushing his stirrups on a big, stout horse with a proud roman nose. Where the air is so crisp and clean in the mornings, he looks forward to getting on a horse with a little buck to him. And she’s still here, rock strong for her family. Holding it all together as she always has. A proud display of everything he was shining through her.

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