Dear Scott

Happy Birthday!
Happy Birthday! (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Yesterday was your birthday, Scott.  You would have been 50.  Thinking today was the 10th, I’ve thought of you all day, trying to picture what you would have looked like and what you would be doing.

I can’t believe you’ve been gone 14 years!  It doesn’t seem nearly that long.

You once told me that if you killed yourself, I’d get over it and go on and live a happy life.  You were wrong, Scott.  I haven’t been happy since you did that unthinkable act.  Yes, I’ve gone on with my life.  What else could I do?  And there have been some moments of joy, not in living, but in nature.

I have not felt happiness in a long time.

Last Thursday, Beulah, one of my closest friends died unexpectedly.  I’m still in shock.  Then Connie, another close friend, was admitted to the hospital with clots in her lungs.  Wednesday, your brother, Ken, found out he has a hole in his heart.  And that’s just the tip of the iceberg of what’s wrong with him.

I’m not so well myself.

All this makes me wonder about life, it’s purpose, and what happiness really means.  And what difference any of it makes since it all ends and is repeated and ends again.

I resent it that we have to die, that we go through life with ambitions, dreams, desires, failures, accomplishments and then have to go and leave it all behind.  We take it with us, as if we had not  walked on this earth, breathed in the air, watched the grackle with the broken wing, read Mary Oliver or Thomas Merton, seen “Stop the World, I Want to Get Off” three times or eaten that piece of cherry pie.   Two hundred years from now, none of it will have mattered.  Sometimes I think of those who lived hundreds of years ago and I honor them in my heart.

This day is almost over.  I’m relieved.  Next month, we have to get through the anniversary of John’s death.  And so on.  It seems that every month, there’s a hurdle to get over.

I’m trying very hard to find pleasure in something.   To experience faith, and hope, and love.   To enjoy giving while losing so much.  To find a reason for it all.

I’ve been a giver all my life.  What happened?  The well has run dry.

7 thoughts on “Dear Scott

  1. Mary, this breaks my heart. I’m so sorry about Scott. Where I am in Arizona, it is still his birthday, I believe.
    I hope you will be able to concentrate on the small things. I was re-reading your description of yourself off to the side of this post. About your animals and the sun and a good book–all the things you love. I hope you will find this love again. Remember this quote from Our Town by Emily: “Take me back — up the hill — to my grave. But first: Wait! One more look. Good-bye , Good-bye world. Good-bye, Grover’s Corners….Mama and Papa. Good-bye to clocks ticking….and Mama’s sunflowers. And food and coffee. And new ironed dresses and hot baths….and sleeping and waking up. Oh, earth,you are too wonderful for anybody to realize you. Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it–every,every minute?” This is Emily’s advice to those who are still here on earth. I hope you will find some comfort in it, Mary.

  2. Hi Mary, I’m sorry you feel so sad, so empty. I wish I had the words, the power, to make the sadness go away.
    I have only a small sense of your loss as we lost our son 13 years ago on the 18th of January. He would be 31 this year, but to lose 2 children is inconceivable.
    You speak of leaving no legacy but have you considered leaving a journal or memoir, a history of your thoughts, your hopes and dreams, and a story of your life? I think you have much to tell, and share.
    Your friend Dwayne.

  3. Oh, Mary, it breaks my heart to know you’re feeling so sad. Like Luanne says, do take comfort and joy in the little things of life. And in knowing that we’re all thinking of you and loving you and wishing you well, from all the different corners of the world.
    Hugs and kisses

  4. Mary, I’m so sorry to hear your pain. All I can offer is my prayers. I think sometimes for those of us that can pray, we must offer prayer in the place of others who have suffered too much pain to pray – we must be their voice. That is what God wants, I believe, that those in too much pain to pray can know that they are still part of the community of prayer, but they need not say anything themselves. If it is OK with you I’d like to be your voice in prayer.

  5. You express your pain so vividly, I can feel it. I’m so sorry for all you’ve gone through and continue to deal with. Life doesn’t seem to get easier, does it? I pray for that ray of sunshine you so sincerely deserve. My thoughts are with you.

  6. Losses are so, so painful. I pray for a little “gain” for you each day, maybe just a ray of sunshine across your lap, or a tasty cookie with tea, or knowing you have many friends who care.

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