Saturday, June 07, 2014


Today marks six months since Scott died, but it feels like it's been much, much longer. Clark and I are having pancakes this morning, in memory of the many lazy mornings making and eating pancakes at Delafield - sometimes with dozens of friends, sometimes just Scott and I and an hours-long game of Scrabble.

I was studying in the library yesterday when I realized that it's been almost exactly a year since we learned that the cancer had spread to his lungs. That day feels more immediate somehow than the day he died. I remember receiving the news from his oncologist, the word "incurable." We went out for coffee - it was bitter - and for a walk through Golden Gate Park. Certain parts of our route that day still echo for me with a memory of the weight in my limbs, the feeling that the ground had dropped out from under us.

Yesterday as I was leaving the library for lunch, I saw someone who looked just like Scott, sitting where Scott would always meet me for lunch dates. I had to look again, to convince myself it wasn't really him. It was crushing, enough to make me stop studying for the day and find a friend to help shoulder the burden. I got to talk and cry, and I got exercise and sunshine and a change of scenery, a sense of being brought back to the present. Good medicine.

Scott's spirit is strong here this morning. Truly his father's son, Clark asked for rooster sauce on his pancakes.


Tori said...


Nancy Gruver said...

00Rooster sauce? I need to be educated on what this is. Many, many hugs to both of you.

marian said...

Sending love.

Anonymous said...

Really nice, Justin