I’ve sat in on a lot of conversations about death this year. Too many, probably. The kind that have forced me to confront mortality for the first time in my life and kept me up at night in tears. Realizing how comfortable some of my family members were with their fates shook me to the core. I’m both a religious and realistic person, but as a 25 year old I tend to maintain the typical young person mentality that I’ll be that way forever. Suddenly I felt the need to write a will and make sure that people know I want Kacey Musgraves’ ‘Rainbow’ played at my service.
Most of the conversations were prompted by the death of my grandfather, Blaine Skinner. My hero in every sense, he passed on June 17 from Leukemia. It was two days after I’d arrived in Idaho and the day after Father’s Day, which he spent surrounded by loved ones. The very next day, we put down our beloved Mater. The most loyal companion of twelve years, he will always be the greatest dog we’ve ever had. Mater, who himself was immobile, crawled to grandpa’s bedside and laid with him for most of that Father’s Day before they both went, as if he knew they were meant to stay together in this life and the next. Almost a year before, I took this picture of them both. It remains my favorite.
I’d arrived in Idaho prepared to have at least some of the summer to say goodbye to them both, and then everything happened at once. With it came an inability to really process what was happening. I didn’t publicly say anything about their passings because it all just felt too depressing to share. Trying to honor them both at once felt like I was cheating them of their own individual mourning periods. Writing this now, I realize perhaps it was impossible because I myself wasn’t afforded them.
2019 brought the death of loved ones, the death of pets, the death of a past life. While every year the pressure to write end of year wrap-up overwhelms me, I’ve decided to give 2019 a funeral of its own. Because, while it’s been tempting to fall to the dark side and let the past die, I recognize the inseparable relationship between joy and sorrow. With death comes rebirth.
This year has, in many ways, forced me into a pause. Slowing down, spending more time with myself - it hasn’t always been a pleasant or welcome experience. Yet I’m so grateful for the opportunities that came of it: I traveled to new parts of world and revisited familiar ones. I met up with friends across the country. I spent more quality time with my family than ever before. I rekindled my friendship with my mom. I crossed things off of my bucket list. I learned to rope and I used my horses more than I have in years. I started solving The NY Times Crossword and watching Jeopardy. I got back in touch with my crafty side. I focused on overcoming some of my fears and actively making decisions not to let them control me. I got to know myself a bit more.
Like all years and decades and however else we measure the significant passing of time, this one was a mixed bag. As I try to take Marmee’s advice and not let the year’s final sun go down on my anger, I’d like to say that we, 2019 and I, have made amends. 2019, I truly wish that you Rest In Peace, and that when I revisit you in my memory I chose to focus on the joy of what was gained rather than the pain of what was lost.
So with that, allow me to play you out with some of our highlights. Cue ‘Rainbow.’
