When you lose your soul mate the future seems very dark. I am sure or at least hope that it won’t be, but that is how I feel right now and honestly, I do not wish to feel any other way. I miss my girl and I don’t want to be happy. Not right now.
Facebook just sent me my ‘On this Day’ posts and pictures. It’s a pretty fun feature of Facebook, at least I enjoy it. I get to see the stark contrast of how different things were one, two, four years ago. Today was a bit different as I am sure the rest of this year will be.
So what happened today. As it turns out, three years ago today was the day Lexie and I arrived in Vermont. We had arrived in Vermont many times before and after, but it was this day when Vermont became our home. A temporary home, but our home never the less. Many already know the story of how I moved up here with plans on moving onto a sail boat that April. Many know how I sold my Motorcycle that Spring of 2013. Only two people ever knew the truth as to why I stopped riding.
It was while Lexie and I were en route to Vermont on this very day back in 2013, loaded with the last of our possessions from our house/office (yeah, that is a story in itself) when I decided to stop riding. The story that I shared with everyone was that living on a sail boat would get in the way of riding. If the weather was nice, we’d be sailing not riding so why have the bike. That is the story I told. The truth, as often the case, was much different.
Lexie and I had been riding for years at this point and she’d been to 28 states with me. We’d ridden in snow storms, rain storms, out ran tornadoes, camped in secret locations, stayed in nice hotels. Lexie and I experienced a lot together, but we were riding on some back roads, returning from Rochester, NY after visiting our friend there when I picked up a bolt in the rear tire while riding through some technical turns. My ST-1300 was equipped with both Tire Pressure Monitors and Tire Temperature Sensors. I took riding serious; after all, I had a precious passenger aboard. Tire monitors were just one of the many tools I used to keep us safe. I’d had many flats before, but for some reason this one was different. There was honestly nothing different about it. It was uneventful aside from having to get trailered home, but there was a growing bug within me.
I’ve been in two motorcycle accidents. One in Florida where I managed to not crash after getting sideswiped by a car and another in Lake George, NY that put me in the hospital. Both were long before Lexie was born. After I got that flat, perhaps sparked by the loss of yet another riding buddy, my concern for our safety began to grow. It grew to a point where I started to become paralyzed by the fear that Lexie would not survive a crash, not even a minor one and anyone who rides knows that you cannot ride in fear. I even attempted to figure out a way to install air bags on her carrier, but I was unsuccessful.
So what does all that have to do with “On This Day’? It was on this very day, back in 2013, during my trip here, bike in tow, that I decided I’d be hanging up my helmet for the last time. All my gear was sold rather quickly. Even Lexie’s custom Motorcycle seat was sold fast. Nothing I sold had any effect on me like the selling of her seat. It tore me apart parting with it, but I did it. She sat right here next to me, looking at me as I packed it up. I swear she wondered why I was doing it.
Yes, on this very day, three years ago, I gave up riding out of fear, yet here I am, a motorcycle sitting in the garage, riding gear in the closet and boots by the door. How does one go from giving up riding to riding again? For me it was simple, Lexie’s cancer. My fear of her dying in a crash was replaced by the reality of her dying from cancer. When I told Lexie’s Mom that I was going to get her back on a bike, her first question was about my fear. For me, the fear had not dissipated. The fear of the crash was and still is real. So what changed? Fear of death. When I decided to start riding again with Lexie, I was most certainly scared, but now knowing that our days were few and the end was going to be horrible, dying in a motorcycle accident didn’t seem so bad.
Cancer took my girl from me and all the reasons I had to ride. Yes, Lexie loved riding and I loved riding with her. Now I sit here, motorcycle in the garage, gear in the closet, boots by the door – my girl missing from my lap, missing from my life. I’ll never be able to take another picture or video of her loving life, being Lexie. Never again feel her paw on my arm, wet nose on my face or get a kiss from her. I’ll never again hear her voice as she talks to me in our own language. Hear her bell as she jumps off the couch. No, I’ll never have any of those moments of joy again.
Nor will I ride – ever again.
Once again, on a wintry day in January, just like three years ago, I have decided that I am giving up riding. The fear never went away and without Lexie sitting in that seat in front of me, there is simply no reason for me to ride. Riding was our thing, our love and our joy. I am glad I got to spend the last 9 months riding with her. Despite my, she deserved to be back on two wheels, but now that she is gone, so are my desires to ride.
Over the next year I’m going to try to get back into kayaking, back into traveling by Bus and back into loving life’s little pleasures. It’s going to be a long slow journey. I’m not the person who I was before and I don’t know who I’ll be in the future, but for now, the mourning continues.
I miss you so much Little Girl!
