this little, big life

This post wasn’t supposed to exist on multiple levels. 

I was not supposed to write this and I was not going to post it.  I had something else to post, something more uplifting, but life has a funny way of derailing our plans.  I was going to tuck this one away in the archives of writings that I have for Nollie to one day open but I changed my mind tonight.  I decided to post it.  I decided to let you read it and feel it because he (and his family) is an important link in my story.

This post is about someone who impacted so many other lives before my own but since his death, I have yet to stop thinking about him, thanking him, wondering why I didn’t stop by more often, and why I didn’t thank him more while he was still alive.  I am writing this 2 weeks after his death.  I’ve needed to give myself some time to write this so I could let his death penetrate the surface of my understanding.  I still have a long way to go. 

This post wasn’t supposed to exist because he wasn’t supposed to die right now.  But than again, who am I to say when someone shouldn’t die?  If that were the case, than I’d be responsible for when they should die and I’m not so confident in that jurisdiction. 

I’m mad because I didn’t know he was going to die and I have this false belief that if I had known, than it would certainly be easier.  If I had known that April 10^th would be his last day on earth than I would have said all that needed to be said, I would sleep soundly, I would accept his last breathe much faster and easier, I would have visited him in the hospital, and than at the end of the day I would make some cookies, drink milk, and cross my arms and legs in relaxation knowing I did all I could…maybe blow some bubbles and sing a ditty too. 

Who am I kidding? 

Because at the end of the day, prepared or not prepared, his life is over.

I can never really prepare for a death of any kind but the sudden ones always seem so unforgiving.  I think it’s fair of me to say that human beings have this odd misconception, an arrogance of sorts, to believe that we are guaranteed to see our spouses, our parents, our siblings, our friends again.  I think actually, that it’s not a conscious fault that we live this way.  I think the mind works in mysterious ways.  We know better than to believe that tomorrow is a guarantee but yet our actions can be so opposite to that.

Scott came into my life…or rather; I stormed into Scott’s life shortly after my mom died.  I dated his son Matt for a quick minute until we decided that the majority of our days were spent bickering like siblings.  I look back now and think that Matt came into my life just so I could have his parents in mine.  They teamed up with two other parent-figures in my life to take care of the areas that seemed I was lacking guidance (which might be nearly every area).  There were holes in my life after my mom died that needed some patching up and the only thing that was going to help make the holes smaller and less life-altering was some very serious and unconditional love.   

Scott and Karen did not give their presence in my life more than a millisecond of thought.  They saw I was in need and they knew they had the tools to fix a broken heart.  I became a part of their family of three children; they placed me at the dinner table, came to my sporting events, bought me everything from essentials (shampoo, lotion, sunscreen, shoes) to non-essentials (a remake of my baby blanket, a ring), moved me in with them on multiple occasions, and made check-in calls if they didn’t a) know where I was already or b) hadn’t seen me that day.  I went to family functions, visited their cabin, moved their oldest daughter to college with them, and listened to Grandpa lecture me about how much my lily of the valley tattoo looks like “little pig butt’s”. 

My relationship with Scott and Karen has played out like a usual childhood except condensed and refined into the last 10 years; I clung to them like newborns do to their parents, pushed them away like adolescents do when I got too confused with life (while they stood vigilant by me), and eventually found my way back to where my heart feels the most peace. 

It’s true that out of the two of them, it is Karen who has been my pillar of strength and my source of nourishment throughout the years but it is Scott who picked her up by the bootstraps and told her to keep trudging on.  He did it silently but religiously.  I have found, through his death, that it was his constant predictability that helped me through some of the most harrowing times.  I knew where he would be sitting when I walked through the back door, what he would be drinking, and the first question out of his mouth: “where’ve you been?”  Because let's face it, the only thing I really needed more than anything was some predictability after all the unpredictability of my life.  Somehow, he knew this more than anyone else. 

Scott and Karen teamed up together in life much like they teamed up to help finish raising me; Karen would hold me in her “mom arms” and Scott would choose the fewest rational words in his rolodex of lessons to bring me back to reality.  I loved the feeling of my arms not quite reaching each other when I would embrace him and the feeling of being tiny in his grasp.  He was the most gentle of people and when he had no words for me than he knew when to hug me and when to hand me over to Karen.   He said so much in silence that just being in it was soothing enough. 

I know the greatest thing I have to thank Scott for is sharing his wife with me.  And the greatest thing I have to thank his kids for is sharing their parents with me.  I’ve known more grief in my life than I care to comment on and this one seems more ridiculously unfair than any other.  The only thing that gives me solace at the end of the day is knowing that the human spirit is capable of far more than the mind is able to comprehend.  I know this from experience and I trust this to bring myself, and especially his family, through.  We may not know what the other side of this grief looks like and we may not want to know, but resiliency will force us to it one way or another and I hope we will all be better for it. 

Thank you Scott for teaching me the power of simplicity and for helping me channel my “reason mind” during the most emotional life events.  But thank you more than anything for being so selfless in your love for your wife that you brought me into your life and let me take up so much of her time.  

I love you Karen, Tawny, Matt and Nicole and I am with you in your grief.