One year later.

One year ago today, my friend Scott was breathing his last breaths.  He died shortly after midnight on May 9, 2007.  It doesn’t really seem possible that he died – it seems a dream that he lost his battle with brain cancer, that the hope and faith he fought with, the trust he had, weren’t enough to save him, to change the plans of the God he trusted to deeply.  And yet sometimes it seems like years since he lived, or like a dream that he ever lived at all. 

One conversation his wife has had often is that of “I am sure Scott wanted you to be happy,” and the conversation along those lines.  But the thing is – they never had those discussions.  They never discussed the “what ifs” of not surviving cancer, because in their minds, cancer was beatable.  He was so close, and he slipped away from us. 

Tomorrow, however, we celebrate, because we grieve with hope – hope that Scott is exactly where he wants to be, resting whole and complete at the feet of his Jesus. 

The day after he died, someone asked his (then) six-year-old son what he thought Daddy was doing on his first morning in Heaven.  They decided he was playing golf.  So here’s hoping that Scott’s getting in a birthday party round of golf today. 

We miss you, but we’re so thankful you’re well.  Soar on, friend.


One response to “One year later.

  1. I am sorry for the loss of a friend, a husband and a father.

    I have done a fair amount of reading about bereavement. One thing I remember reading is that many people later regret not properly saying goodbye to a loved one, or not talking about real issues related to how the family will carry on after the loved one has died.

    They are not ready to accept the possibility that the person might die, or they feel it would be devastating to the sick person to bring it up. So they try to put on a cheery face and leave many things unsaid.

    There is a lot of cancer in my family, and I have resolved that if I ever do get cancer, I am going to have those conversations with my husband (even as I fight the disease as hard as I can).

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s