Scott Mathew Johnson

Scott, my bother my friend my buddy, I have written this letter to you a thousand times since you passed away, and I can hardly make it past this point without crying for myself. I keep writing and erasing page after page. Well tonight I’m ready to put my thoughts into words for you. I know I’m supposed to tell everyone who looks on your memorial page about how I felt about you, how I looked up to you, how we spend countless hours in the desert catching lizards and snakes. I suppose to tell everyone how you meant the world to me. I’m supposed to tell everyone how I would call you and just listen to your voice, seeing you smile in my mind while you told me your stories of the next chapter in your life. I’m supposed to tell everyone about our younger days bird hunting with Dad, Gary and most of the neighbourhood kids. Or should I be telling them how our dad was always looking for the next great sales items like painted Ostrich Eggs, or the paint bucket lid/spout? Or when Dad had this great plan to take a small camping trailer and convert it into a mobile kitchen and serve hotdogs and hamburgers at the Winter National Fuel Drag Races. I’m supposed to tell everyone how many bars we were in following Gary around as he played his band gig. I don’t remember too many that had more than you and I and our dates in the audience. But we gave it hell clapping for his rendition of Hank Snow’s famous song. I’m supposed to tell everyone how so strong and secure you were taking on our great uncles’ estate in Seattle and you took me under your wing, as we walked through the paperwork making decisions that would cement our great uncle’s life. You were phlegmatic throughout that time. I’m supposed to tell everyone about you introducing me to Gelato in the little wharf town of Bainbridge Island. Scott my brother my friend my buddy. Your untimely passing has left a huge hole in so many lives. How can we ever repay you for the times, the moments, the laughs, and the tears we all had with you? I’m sorry we never got out shrimping on your boat or traveling together after you and I retired. After watching you be so stoic during your last six months of life, you showed no pain, no hurt, no pity for yourself while you were in such uncertainty. I don’t know how you did it, but your kept us all cheering you on, day after day, week after week, and then you had the most wonderful Christmas with your kids, and you loved on them with such passion. Take care of Mom, Dad and Gary up in heaven. I never thought I would outlive you. I always thought we’d grow old having fun, cracking jokes, reminiscing about Monty Python, making fun of life until I passed. I love you Scott. I told you that every time we spoke and I’m telling you tonight, I love you Scott!