Skip

Today I attended the funeral of my uncle, Skip, the wisest soul I know. It twas not a sad day, but rather a day filled relief and gratitude. You see Skip had been confined to his bed for some time and it had been years and years since he had last swallowed a bite of food. Last Thursday as I slept his soul was finally freed from his once great vessel. Once again he was able to walk the world free of any boundaries, free of any constraints.

But constraints and boundaries never really held Uncle Skip back anyways. Born on December 26, 1944 in a small town in Tennessee, Skip faced his first challenge as he crossed the barrier between darkness and light and was strangled by the very tube that had been giving him life. With the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck his battle for life began right out the gate. But he survived, and he continued to survive, and even now in his death he survives in the hearts of those who were blessed enough to be loved by him.

 Skip suffered severe mental damage due to the prolonged period without oxygen. I often wondered what Skip might have been like if things had gone more smoothly. But Skip was no mistake and somehow God worked miracles through what seemed like tragedy at the time. My grandmother was told that he would be too big of a burden for her, that she wouldn’t be able to give him the special, extended care he would need as the result of his injuries, and that she should just hand him over to the state and try, try, try again. Ha, what a joke. I’m sure my grandmother didn’t spend more than a half a second listening to that mess. A mother’s love isn’t something you buy at the supermarket and return on a whim. And she was never the type that scared easily.

 Even after she made it clear that she would never abandon Skip the negativity continued. Doctors asserted he would not live past 6 months, 9 months, a year, two years, five years. He’ll never walk. He’ll never run. He’ll never follow my brother around for miles and miles in search of the best fishing spots. He’ll never show off forever doing chin-ups under the staircase. And even after he proved all their theories wrong he was never appreciated fully by the world at large which values your soul based on the credentials on your resume and the numbers in your bank account.

But Skip did more than walk and run. While his ability to read and write were limited to copying shapes and memorizing logos (believe me, he could read the word ASTROS) his ability to appreciate what really matters and love life to the fullest were boundless. Of all the people in my life no one taught me more than my Uncle Skippy. At school I consumed discoveries that unveiled the secrets of the world and how it worked, but at home I discovered what really mattered through the superb guidance of my very own sage.

 When it came to the simple things in life no one knew more. Uncle Skip had perfected the art of enjoying a meal long ago, savoring each bite as if it was his very own slice of heaven, and by the time he was done with lunch it was nearly time for dinner. Raking leaves was never a fun task unless Uncle Skip was there to turn it into a dance with the wind, raking his leaves as he laughed and played and conversed with whichever spirits were around. And the world never seemed as alive as it did when Uncle Skippy was around, speaking to the thin air as if it were full of color and life.

As a child I took him for granted, not realizing that not everyone has an Uncle Skippy. I will forever be grateful for having Skip in my life and there is nothing about him that I will ever forget.