I knew something wasn’t right. No one had seen my step dad for hours, and I had been panicking all afternoon trying to get ahold of him. I even spent time wandering and asking neighbors if they had seen him. The last thing I knew, he was preparing the motorcycle to be stored for the winter. I watched him leave the apartment mid afternoon. But now, late into the night, as my mom, aunt, step sister, and a stranger or two walked into our apartment they carried with them a dark, heavy energy. My step sister brought my step brother to the back bedroom, and my mom led my sister and I to our bedroom. All I remember after that is hearing my step brother scream the most guttural, earth shattering, desperate cry of grief.
I must have blocked out the rest of the night, but my sister claims that after my mom explained to us that our step father had passed away I also began screaming. I was 12 years old. This was my first confrontation with death.
The next few days felt like walking through thick fog. I have vague memories of people visiting, neighbors and friends providing meals, but what I remember most is the empty pain. I loved my step dad, Skip, more than I thought possible at the time. Trying to picture life without him made absolutely no sense to me. At the time, my dad was struggling deep in the pit of addiction, so Skip was my rock in that. Not everyone in my family had an amazing relationship with him, but I really cherished the times we spent together.
At my dad’s house, I prepared my food. I entertained myself. I watched out for our safety. Skip provided a security and comfort that I never had there. It was a part of our weekend routine to grocery shop and prepare food together. He is still the only adult that ever spent time teaching me how to cook. We loved to watch movies together, and he introduced me to SO many of my favorites, including the Star Wars universe. I developed an anxiety disorder really young, and Skip was always encouraging me to be more spontaneous. That's hard to do successfully for a preteen with irrational worry, but something stuck because I remember writing really cringy "lyrics" to a song about it that I would twirl around singing to myself for hours.
When I lost Skip, so much of my world changed so quickly, and I feel guilty to this day that I watched him walk out the door without offering him a hug.
Last Tuesday was the 14 year anniversary of the day of his accident. He was killed suddenly at the age of 44, just around the corner from where we lived, as he was leaving the gas station on his motorcycle. From what I can remember, he was struck by a young girl who’s uncle had just passed under very similar circumstances. Heavy, messy, ugly stuff. I still think about that girl and pray that she eventually went on to live a healthy, happy life.
That’s just one if the many reasons why fall is just tough for me. My auto immune disorder symptoms flare up as the season transitions, and depression rears its ugly head. Plus, I just might always associate this time of year with those painful memories. I don’t sulk in it, at least I try not to. But I do acknowledge it. I do say that it’s sad. I do try to remember and reflect on that period of life 14 years ago. I say Skip’s name. Remembering reminds me that he was real, and that my experience with grief and such a young age was so formative. It’s sad, yes, but I appreciate that there is a way to keep his memory alive. I know it hurts because he meant something to me.
I will say that with time, grief has become more manageable. This time of year just makes it all bubble up a little more. The sun being out for less hours, and the cold seeming to seep into my bones only hightens that.
This post is mostly to give myself space to remember that my feelings around Skip and his accident are real and valid, but it’s also to remind you that what you are feeling is okay too. Sitting in what you feel can suck, but it can be really healing to be honest about it and feel all of the things.
Do me a favor and check on your friends. Us seasonal affected humans are really good at just saying we’re tired and need rest and isolation when that really only contributes to the icky feelings more in the long run. Please encourage yourself and your friends to be caring for themselves in this season.
You are truly and deeply loved.
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