Remembering My Brother from Another Mother

 

  Although I'm not sure when Scott Nicholson and I became buddies, I'm pretty sure it was circa 1976 when he became my new neighbor in a small neighborhood in the country. We were the same age, and we went to the same school, Dix Avenue Elementary in Hudson Falls, N.Y. Scott had a younger brother, and I had an older sister and an older brother, but all of us were within a few years of one another. 

  As we navigated through grade school, it was hard to believe that we never shared a classroom in that elementary school, as we had different teachers throughout our education. However, we rode the bus together, getting on it and off it on Monday through Friday until summer would welcome us with an extended break from school. 

  In the fall, we would get off the bus and rush down to Scott's house to play football or basketball in his yard. After all, he had a nice little area to play football in front of the barn, and one end of the field had a small basketball court on the cement in front of the garage. We would play until it got dark almost every night. I never understood why Tim was always on my team and Scott had to play on his own. He always got a little more playing time than Tim and me. We would roll in the dirt, get in arguments and try to kill each other, all while building a lasting relationship that would never fade, not even with the distance that eventually came when Scott's family moved to North Carolina near the end of our school years. 

  Gazing out my parents' window, I can still see the pond where we spent countless hours skating. On the weekends in the winter, we would start at daybreak and play hockey until the sun set behind the hills. One year, the snow froze to glare ice after a massive rainstorm and we skated all over the entire field on the ice. It was a magical kingdom that had been created by God's hand, and we only experienced it that one time. The snow/ice lasted a few days and we skated on it like we were sent from another world to explore something no humans had ever explored. 

   One night, we were playing basketball in Scott's driveway, and a triangle of lights appeared on the hill to the right of my house. It hovered for a few seconds, then went over our heads and disappeared in the sky to the west. The next day there would be talk of sightings all over the region, and nobody was ever able to explain what we had seen, but we weren't the only ones who saw it. We still talked about it almost 50 years later. 

  As we inched closer to our teen years, we gained permission to venture a little farther from home, and we explored new fishing spots and began trekking through the woods in the fall to chase squirrels and partridges. Very rarely did we return home without a story or two. During the summer months, we were attached at the hip and tried every type of fishing lure or hook to land the beautiful trout in the halfway brook that ran through Scott's grandparents' property before making its way along Frog Hollow and meandering through our land on the other side of the road. We lived the greatest childhood two kids could've ever dreamed about. 

  Although Scott had the basketball court and football field, I had the baseball field at my house on top of the hill. My dad would mow the field and we would play baseball regularly. If we could hit the ball into the deep grass on the fly, then it was declared a home run. There was never a day that we didn't spend together. 

  I was diagnosed as a Type 1 diabetic when I was 6 years old, and Scott quickly took on the responsibility to understand the disease and learn what to do when I suffered from low blood sugar. Although we were kids, he would look after me like an adult, making sure I was OK. That was his style throughout his entire life, too. He never complained about the health issues life dealt him. Instead, he was always concerned about others and brought no attention to his own struggles. He was the most loving, caring, special man I've ever known. He would call regularly to make sure Mom, Dad and my brother and sister were OK. 

 Although he always asked about others, he would spend a lot of time beaming about the treasures in his own life. He loved being a dad to his daughter, and he was beyond proud of her. I've seen and listened to a lot of proud parents, but nobody could hold a candle to the pride he displayed for his daughter. The last conversation we had, which was a few weeks back, he spoke of his daughter and all the things in her life. 

  Scott and I were both married, and we both ended up divorced. I would talk to him regularly during the process, and he would offer support and guidance. Then, I remember him talking about the "one." He told me about Christal and how he believed he was meant to find her. He told me she could put people in their place, but she was good for him. He loved her demeanor and knew they were meant to be together, Eventually, they married and Scott was where he belonged. He was always happy to have found her.  

  Whenever Scott called me, I always tried to joke with him to get him to laugh. He had enough struggles to deal with, so I always tried to lighten the mood, and all I can do now is hope I succeeded. He would let out a few deep belly laughs when I cracked jokes, and it made me smile. He was a much better friend to me than I was to him. He always made time for everyone else, and I always seemed to be lacking in that area with a zillion things going on in my life. 

  The last time I spoke with him, he told me what was coming. He knew his time on earth was limited. I tried to make light of it, so we didn't have to get into the nitty gritty of life. I wanted to make him laugh and tell him we would beat it together. Although he told me he was gonna give it everything he had, I could hear it in his voice that he was tired. He was worn out. He had fought the battle and God was ready to take him home. He didn't have much fight left in him.

  I would talk to him on my ride to work, which lasted about 45 minutes. Although he didn't sound any different, the call was different; the tone was different; and I knew this day was coming. There are days I complain and whine and wish for things to be different. Now, I realize how fortunate I have been and still am. As I neared the exit for work on the highway, I let him know and he said, "I love ya, man. Tell Mom, Dad and your brother and sister I love them too." 

  I responded, "I love you too, buddy. I'll pass it along. You got this. Let's give it hell."

  Those are the last words I said to Scott. He gave it hell, but in the end, when it's our time, it's our time. God must've determined that Scott served the purpose he was supposed to serve and it was time to take him home. 

  A big piece of my childhood was swept away on Friday morning when I received the message from Scott's brother, Tim. Shortly after, I called to let my parents know, and I muddled through the day at work, turning into a person nobody knew existed, even though the behavior was well-warranted for what had happened in the workplace, not the news I had just heard. 

  Respect is everything in this life. I respected Scott, and I knew he respected me. We grew up together, then he went and served our country while I attended college. Our lives took different paths and dealt us different hands to play. I'm sure we will meet again in another life or in another time. I know he will be waiting for me because he never gave up on me, even when I was the worst of friends and didn't return calls for months on end. However, he always forgave me, and conversations picked up without missing a beat. I appreciated his tenacity and love.

  I loved ya, buddy, but I'm also relieved to see that you no longer have to suffer. You were a warrior and displayed strength and courage that average people don't have. You inspired me to never complain and just take things on the chin. You also helped me to find the positive in the negative and try to make others smile when there was nothing to smile about. I just hope I succeed with that during our last conversation. Your laugh made me smile and your presence in my life left an everlasting impact. I appreciate your service to our country, and I find it fitting that you left us on Memorial Day weekend. You gave your life for this country, and I wish more people gave credit to the ones we have lost who have done that. Your legacy will never leave me, and I'll pass it along as often as possible. I'll cast one last line for you in the Halfway in hopes of reeling in a long-lost memory I may have forgotten. I'll see you soon, my friend.