2019, The Year Things Changed

Kind of at a loss for words. Skateboarding is the most important thing in my life, usually. Then something real happens.

Parents’ had their dog put down on Nov 15th. I was there when it happened. Thought about the passing of Edward Pidgeon not long ago. A friend’s sister committed suicide last month. Two days ago I got word another friends’ mother had passed after a long illness. “I was with her, holding her hand and talking to her as she passed,” he wrote. I was at work when I saw those words. I went into the bathroom and cried for a bit—out of both sadness for him, but also out of a deep existential appreciation for how profound, beautiful, and meaningful the scene was that those words painted. Of course, all of this has made me (again) think about my own parents’ mortality.

Thanksgiving is next week. For several years now, every time a holiday, birthday, or some other special occasion rolls around I always think, “Is this the last one that we will all be together for?” That perspective is both a blessing and a curse. In either assessment, it really forces you to sap every last bit of meaning out what time there is. To some extent, without finality everything might become meaningless. That our time is limited is what really allows it to…flourish.

I have reached the point in life where I will be attending more funerals than weddings. I have reached the point in life where, at 12:30am in the morning, I am not out at a bar, or skateboarding, but sitting home alone writing about death (and thus life).

2019 has taken me down a notch. Only one other year has provided me such “opportunity for growth,” as the optimists like to say. Between my own injuries, my parents’ age/health issues, and what has happened to those around me, much has changed this year, and not for the better. I leave 2019 a very different person than I entered it. Many do.

On Dec 20th 2019, I am having another surgery on my ankle. They are going to remove a large screw in my leg, and potentially scrape away some internal scar tissue, which may be preventing flexibility and movement. I really hope this improves things. For walking. For hockey. For skateboarding. Five days later I’ll be spending Christmas with my elderly parents.

Flexibility. Movement. Hope. Improvement. Family. I can’t think of a better way to end this year. Whomever may be reading this, you have my best wishes for 2020.