Before Scott, After Scott

I like to look at my family's life as before Scott died and after Scott died.

Photo by Christian Agbede on Unsplash

For those who do not know, my brother, Scott, died 15 years ago. He was only 49 years old.  He was the middle child, two years older than me and three years younger than my oldest brother, Eric.

And he was larger than life.  At least in his growing up years.

I have written a great deal about him, our family and my mom and dad, especially since all three of them have now departed their Earthly home.  

I like to remember how Scott was in the early years, full of life and athletic prowess:  a phenomenal pitcher, a great dancer, a talented guitarist. He had a zest for life, but like all of us, he had his issues.  

My mom and dad spent a lifetime trying to get him healed. I'm unsure at how effective they were.  How effective is any parent when a child has his own will and is determined to exercise it?  I can only speak to my own ability to "control" my three adult children.  It isn't happening.  But even when they were younger, it was an uphill battle.

My parents fought that battle, one foot forward and two steps back, for decades. They would have fought it forever, had Scott lived.  I hated to watch it while he was alive but would give anything now to have a bird's eye view.  Why?  I think my parents would still be alive if Scott were.

That's because, before Scott died, they lived full, vibrant lives.  This is not to say those lives were drama-free.  Quite the contrary.  They fought about many things, namely my father's drinking and his inability to live up to my mom's standards.  But they were happy to the degree that any mismatched married couple could be.  And they made it work, somehow.

Dad was an avid race walker up to the time Scott died.  He was not happy if he didn't walk 8 to 10 miles a day.  And he didn't just walk:  he walked FAST.  He would never miss a walk, even when the weather was horrific.  On inclement days, he would walk inside, at the mall or the YMCA.  Sometimes mom would join him.

They continued to host many events at their home, including dinner parties, and had a large circle of friends.  Some they had met decades before when dad worked in Longmont, CO at the FAA center.  They made a point to get together with these couples on a monthly basis or so, even after dad retired, meeting somewhere halfway, like Northglenn.  Mom lived for anything social and would often give me a run down on each week, before it started.

"On Monday, we are going to dinner with Helen and Richard, we are going out dancing with Lola and Lee on Wednesday," she'd say.  Then she'd go through the rest of the week, telling me her vast plans.  She did more in one day than I usually did in a week.

They traveled, went out to eat often, spent time with their grandchildren, hosted dinner parties, lived life.  They were in their late seventies when Scott died; they still had so much life to live and were relatively healthy.

But the years before his death were not easy and the writing was on the wall, early on.  In fact, Scott always said he never expected to make it to fifty.  Prophetic words or self-fulfilling prophecy?  We will never know.  Mom and dad spent much time, energy and money trying to help Scott, paying for a condo for he and his third wife, sending him to bartending school (not the best choice for an addict) and allowing him to live with them.

At one point, Scott and mom actually moved in together, when mom had grown tired of her fights with my dad.  Crazy.  I had forgotten all about this until recently.  Funny how you remember things in pieces, when your psyche can process it.

I remember going to visit her at the apartment they shared, even after Scott had moved out.  I can't remember where he went or what happened to him.  Only that she was on her own for a while, then decided to go back to my father. The situation wasn't exactly picture-perfect right up to the minute he died.  There was much drama prior.

For a very long time I was angry with Scott and felt manipulated by him. It got to the point where there could no longer be a relationship, because it was one-sided. Whenever I got a phone call from him, I knew he wanted money or some other favor. Tough love eventually won the day, and social distancing became a thing before it became a thing.

I regret that.

When I found out Scott had died, I was devastated. Beyond words. I was in Philadelphia at the time and remember acting like a zombie for the rest of the day. I had to fly back to Colorado the following day, in deep grief, which is not a ton of fun on a packed flight when you cannot stop crying. The flight attendants were so kind and gracious. I will never forget how well they treated me and I learned empathy for others who had to travel under such circumstances.

Scott died in Nebraska and had been living with friends. I worked for Frontier Airlines, and they offered to ship his body back to Colorado for free. Again, I will never forget that act of mercy and I remember how much it meant to my mom.

My dad was in alcohol rehab when Scott died so we were unable to tell him about Scott's death until he was strong enough to bear it. As if that would ever be the case. It seemed like weeks but was more than likely just a few days. I won't forget his wailing anytime soon. No parent should ever have to mourn their own child. Most parents can think of nothing worse.

There was much blaming of each other in the days and weeks following Scott's death, on the part of my parents. There was no closure, no drawing closer. They say the death of a child either brings you closer together or further apart. My parents did the latter which was not surprising because they already stood on shaky ground. Years of trying to fix Scott had taken its toll. Their relationship had played second fiddle to trying to fix Scott. All relationships had. We were all in the same sinking ship. 

I had a lot of anger back then. Of course, it is one of the stages of grief, one of which I am intimately acquainted. I would like to say it was just the run-of-the mill anger everyone goes through, but it was more than that. It was also secondary anger due to the loss of my parents, the loss of my family, the dream of having the situation turn for the best. All of us wanted that, not just my parents. We all wanted the happily-ever-after, all's well that ends well celebration.

In the end, Eric and I simply could not be guests at that dinner party anymore. The food was spoiled and tainted, and we could no longer digest it.