As I pick up the pieces of my broken heart, I remember that I have been here before.  This is the same feeling of fear that I experienced right before I jumped out of the airplane over Davis, California the summer before I met my husband, or the years rafting through the class 4 and 5 rapids, and the year we did Picket Fence together down the Rogue River, and my husband capsized in a kayak, or the year we were skiing Kirkwood in a snow storm and accidentally had to take our four year old, Siena, down a treacherous black diamond ski run.

On that day at Kirkwood, I leaned down with the wind and snow blowing so hard it stung my face, and whispered to Siena that she could do this, and she did.  She pointed her ski’s down the mountain and I stayed close to her because it was becoming a white out.  She made it safely to the bottom, and later we sat together having lunch in the lodge, with our friends the Hoover family, and watched the storm rage on until snow hit the roof tops.

What I remember and hold close to me now, is that she trusted me completely, and she trusted herself, and she went on to become an amazing skier and a very brave person in general.



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