After Scott's service there was a celebration at a local resort.  Near the end of that event I spoke to the group.  I have been asked by several people to publish my comments.  And so, here they are, unedited.

Hello

I am Scott’s mom, Robin.

First, I want to thank you all for being here, not just for attending Scott’s celebration, but for being there for him throughout his life, for laughing with him, drinking with him, crying with him, hunting and fishing with him, cheering for him, picking him up and brushing him off when stumbled ( both literally and figuratively), encouraging him, telling him when he went over the line, and for being there whenever he needed a friend, a shoulder, a hug.

When I started trying to write this, I planned on writing it as a letter to Scott.  It only took about a minute to realize that if I took that approach, I would never get through it without breaking down.  So, I changed my plan and decided it would be best if I just shared some thoughts about my beautiful son.

Scott was smart, funny, devoted, honest, strong and loving.  He had gorgeous blue eyes, a great smile, an infectious laugh and a gigantic heart. 

He was the best friend you could ever have.  He was fiercely loyal and protective.  God forbid someone should hurt a loved one.  They would have Scott to answer to.  But he was also caring, and beneath that rough exterior and bluster was a gentle soul.  When Jackie entered St. Francis High School as a freshman, he announced that no one was allowed to talk to his sister without his permission.  His plan was to protect his sister.  Jack’s interpretation was that he was ruining her life.  When he and some friends had a party to celebrate their victory in the CCS football championship, the police showed up and found a large quantity of beer.  There were a lot of kids at the party, but Scott, in order to protect them all, assured the police that only he and a couple of friends were drinking. 

The police simply dispersed the party, but the high school suspended him and his friends from attendance at all extracurricular activities.  Well, he was a bit of a prankster and had a mischievous streak.  And he wasn’t about to miss a big basketball game. And so he had his sisters dress him and his friends in drag and do their makeup and off to the game they went.  Surprisingly, they got in without being recognized.  But in fact, to them that was a bit disappointing.  And so, during halftime they ran out onto the court and waved to the crowd.  They were ushered out by some of the teachers to cheers and thunderous applause.  He loved it.

He loved working with his hands.  He started pounding nails before he started school.  My dad, a contractor, would give him a hammer, a short chunk of 2 by 4, and some nails and he would sit and beat nails into that stick until it weighed 15 pounds.  He was working with Tom on an addition to our house in Seattle when he was 7.

And the outdoors was his happy place.  Hunting and fishing were not just hobbies.  They were his source of joy and peace.  They were opportunities to share and bond and teach and create life-long memories.  That was Scott in his natural element.

He could be gruff and course, but he loved to teach and to mentor.  His time coaching football, baseball and wrestling were some of his most treasured experiences.

Regardless of how well you think you know the closest people in your lives, they always seem to find a way to surprise you.  We were stunned when Scott told us he was going to bull-fighter school and learn how to be a rodeo clown.  As a gift, Kari had enrolled him in a class because he told her it was on his bucket list.  In his entire life we had never heard him mention an interest, but Tom told him it must be in his genes because his great-uncle, Jerry, was a rodeo rider and Uncle Jerry’s brother was a Hall of Fame rodeo clown.  Later, while we were in Washington, D.C. for a funeral, we got a call that “he was okay” after having had to step in front of a bull to protect a teenager who was also taking the class.  Apparently they hadn’t gotten to the part where they learned how to avoid being tossed in the air by an angry bull.  In spite of the bruises, he loved the experience.

And he was a traditionalist.  Things needed to be the way they had always been.  One year I decided to try some new dishes for our Thanksgiving dinner.  He was very upset.  How could I mess with tradition?  He gave me “permission” to add anything I wanted to the menu, as long as the old standards were also there.  He gave me the same lecture one year when I had the audacity to frost the Halloween cookies.

But I think the last several months of his life were the most insightful.  I think we saw the real Scott, without any of the distractions of everyday life.

From the instant he was diagnosed, his concern was not for himself, but for Kari, Faith, Logan, Grady and the rest of the family.  He underwent very difficult treatments in order to maximize his time with them.  He subjected himself to long, tiring trips to and from Palo Alto on the chance that very unpleasant infusions might give him more time, more memories for his kids, and a chance to be there for them at important milestones in their lives.  Our daughter, Jackie, was diagnosed with brain cancer many years ago and Scott experienced the path to her death.  He knew what the future would likely hold.  He told me early on that he couldn’t be like Jack.  He thought of her as a hero because she underwent several different difficult trial treatments knowing that they were unlikely to be of any help to her, but so that the scientists might learn something from her experience to cure brain cancer and help others in the future.  He said he wasn’t going to do that.  He said his focus was solely on his family and giving them the most time he could.  He couldn’t worry about anyone else.  What I don’t think he saw in himself was the selflessness that he too had chosen.  He was not doing anything out of self-interest.  It was all for others, his family.

And he demonstrated amazing courage.  In the last several months when his speech was severely compromised and just moving from place to place was an ordeal, there was never any self-pity, not once did he ask “why me”.  When we came to visit he made every effort to be present for us.  He would smile as best he could and you could see the twinkle in his eye that told you that the Scott we knew, the Scott he’d always been, was still in there.  In spite of knowing what the future held, he engaged with his family and friends as though there was nothing more important than spending time with them.  He used every ounce of energy he had left to get one more week, one more day, one more hour with them in spite of the cost to him.  He was the bravest man I’ve ever known.

And equally importantly, the last 14 months disclosed his tremendous faith.  He told me he was concerned about the possible effect his passing would have on his dad’s and my faith, that we would lose our connection with God due to the inexplicable loss of a second child.  He made me promise that that would not happen.  And when we would spend time together I would invariably break down into tears, and his comment to me was always the same. “Don’t worry about me.  I’m going to be okay.”  He would hold my hand and repeat that phrase multiple times until I would acknowledge that he was right.  He was going to be okay.  And now he is.

My love for Scott started months before he was born and it will never end.  He will always be part of who I am and who I aspire to be.  Being his mother was a privilege.  And Scott, I am holding you close to my heart and I will be with you for eternity.  And if you get the chance to have a moment with God, could you tell him “thank you” for giving you to me to have for a time, even if it wasn’t long enough.  I love you, Scott and I’ll see you soon.