Sunday Mourning

I will, as promised, be posting updates on Thanksgivings II and III as soon as I can. But for now, something more important needs to be expressed.

Yesterday, on at least two occasions, I thought to myself "I am a superhero". More on that in forthcoming posts. Seemingly on cue, life stepped in to put me in my place. I was enjoying a lazy Sunday in sweatpants, cleaning up the aftermath of a small party and decking the halls. Just as I started to decorate my Christmas tree, my mom called me to let me know that Skip just died.

Skip was one of the owners of the stable where my horse lives. He has been an important part of my life since I started riding in 1997, but for the last four years or so, I have only seen him once or twice a year. I suppose he was more like an extra grandfather than anything. He taught me much of what I know about horsemanship, and was always able to lighten a mood, no matter what the situation. He was the perfect balance to my very intense (but also very dear) riding teacher. Every now and then he would sidle up to me while I was riding, slip some money into my hand, and tell me not to spend it all in one place. Every time we parted ways, even toward the end while the dementia was taking its hold, he made me promise to "call if you get lonesome!" Thinking back, I'm not sure if I ever took him up on that. So many things we could have talked about. So many times he could have cheered me up when I was struggling, if only I'd taken his advice and called.

Skip used to be a bull rider and a rodeo clown, so at some point in his life he'd busted about every bone in his body. He looked the part of a grizzled farmhand, but his personality was one hundred percent inviting. To everyone. Always.

After I got the call, I struggled to react. I heaved one of those choking breaths that comes at the end of a really good cry, but no tears came. So I kept on decorating my tree, phasing in and out of thinking about Skippy, and starting this post in my head. Now I'm writing it, and have squeezed out a couple of tears. But this doesn't feel like any of the other times I've lost loved ones, and I'm trying to piece together why that is. I have gotten the news over the phone before, so that can't be it. I've dealt with the expected-yet-never-quite-expected death that comes at the end of a long illness, so I don't think that's it either.

The only thing I can come up with is that he didn't seem very ill the last time I saw him. So it didn't feel like a goodbye at all. Only once have I lost someone without having gotten the chance to say goodbye - no small blessing - and I clearly do not know how to deal with it. Usually I am able to make a bedside visit, and play or sing something for my loved ones before they pass. And usually after they pass, I am charged with holding it together for long enough to sing or play at the funeral. The tears have to stay down, and the only way to do that is to stuff down the emotions too. Maybe that's what I'm doing right now, on a subconscious level. Maybe the floodgates will open the next time I go riding.

Happy trails, Skippy. Call if you get lonesome.