Today, on what would have been his 43rd birthday, I’m thinking about my cousin Scott.
Scott was a remarkable human being who spent much of his adult life battling cancer and its fallout, and it finally caught up to him last year. The thing about Scott that’s remarkable, though, is not just how he handled his health issues. Like everyone stuck in that terrible situation, he did the best he could. Sometimes he handled it well, and other times he handled it less well. Because, of course, Scott was a human being.
What’s remarkable about Scott is this: his 20-something years of adult life were riddled with times of physical suffering most of us have never even imagined, but his heart and mind remained full of love. He loved animals and nature, he cared for and showed respect to strangers, and mostly, he loved his friends and family deeply.
Scott and I were extremely close as children (that’s the two of us in a stroller at the zoo up at the top of the page), and through our teenage years. He was like my brother and my best friend rolled into one. Somehow, we just got each other, in a way that hasn’t happened too often in my life. From very early on, we encouraged each other to take risks, and then comforted and saved each other when they didn’t work out. One early example: Scott had a scar on his forehead from our conclusion that he probably was like Superman, and we would find out for sure when he launched, arms outstretched, from the back of a farm truck moving slowly down a rocky dirt road. Spoiler alert: he was not Superman.
We didn’t get the chance to spend too much time together throughout our adult lives. We kept in touch more and less, and we had epicly fun reunions every few years, but in general, our lives were distant. Most people in that situation choose to focus on the people who are there, and let those childhood feelings slip away.
But once Scott loved you, he never quit. The love didn’t subside. His big, tall body was literally bursting with it. I honestly have no idea how many people he cared about, but I’d be willing to bet the number was significantly higher than most people. And his love was extra meaningful, because Scott wasn’t a doormat, and he wasn’t unrealistic about people’s shortcomings. But he didn’t let those shortcomings stop him from caring. And once he cared, Scott would take care of you, if you needed it.
If I had to put a point on it, I’d say Scott had a natural wisdom that seemed to come from deep, deep down. It was always there, immutable, throughout his life. It gave him access to insight about people that allowed him to see them clearly. And most people, if you can see them clearly, are very lovable. Or at least, that’s what I imagine was going on. Scott certainly never would have said anything like that! 😀
Through all those years that I didn’t see or talk to Scott much, knowing he cared for me gave me a bedrock of comfort and belonging that helped me through many a tough moment in my life. I’d say I regret not telling him that, but I know he knew. I still should have told him.
So I’m telling you now. Most of the world doesn’t know it, but we lost a great human being in Scott David Beaty. If you knew him, and he loved you, you’re very, very fortunate.
One had to be careful where one’s beer was concerned… Scott was a beer thief.
I have reached for my phone on 3 occasions to text him something that would be considered socially unacceptable, or downright horrible, only to remember…
Goddammit!
Me too! Love you, cuz.
I’ve wanted to text him a hundred times just to say let’s get some lunch. He would talk more during our lunches than any other time. It was a pleasure and a pain in my rear to be his mother. I miss him every single minute.
It just ain’t fair. But having known Scott is 100% worth the pain of losing him.