Last week I attended the funeral of a friend’s mom. It was an amazing experience. Instead of hothouse flowers, there were bouquets of laurel, cut from her hillside. That wasn’t to minimize costs. It was to reflect the woman whose life we gathered to celebrate.

For nearly two hours, friends and family told “Rose” stories, and we sat taking in every word. My friend — herself an energetic woman — said it was both a privilege and challenge to be her mother’s daughter. She said it wasn’t until Rose was in her 70s that she could keep up with her. (This from a woman who ran a marathon to celebrate turning 50!)

It seems that Rose was always on a great adventure, and most of them were on horseback. Her penchant for riding where there was no trail turned nearly every ride into a great adventure. A cousin described riding with her as a mixture of fun and terror, all the while learning the name of every plant in the forest. Rose was always hauling kids and ponies around, whether to participate in Pony Club rallies or to ride in the mountains, infecting those kids with the spirit of sportsmanship.

Another cousin said that he learned to “get on, hold on, and go on.” I thought about how appropriate that was, not just for the hair-raising trail rides, but as a metaphor for life. Sure, there are times when we ride in perfect balance, enjoying the rhythm in every stride. But there are also times...

At 71, Rose went on a 7-day horse-packing trip in Wyoming, spending at least six hours a day in the saddle. She never complained. Her last competition was at 76. It was the horse’s first combined-training event. She was described as an excellent, wonderful sport.

Between 76 and 88, Rose lost her sight, and progressively lost her ability to get around. Her caregivers were amazed by her determination to press beyond every obstacle before her.

I wondered what made this woman so extraordinary. The minister said that Rose didn’t quote the word of God, but she walked it. Excellence in character was important, and she was described as having a “hardy grace.”

I came home from that celebration of Rose’s life with a renewed sense of courage. I am never going to have her totally gutsy sense of adventure. But I’d like to have a little more of that hardy grace. And I’m going to remember the words, “Get on. Hold on,” and most especially, “Go on.”