Eulogy for Scott

Scott was formative in my life. He came to me when I was 29 years old, and he was my first, real, adult love. Losing him feels like a singular, unimaginable kind of pain.

Scott was ill for seven and a half years and I might have written this eulogy in advance, but I didn't. As a result, I find myself augmenting it over the past couple of weeks, as new memories emerge of the "old Scott" (the Scott who still spoke the same language as I do and still saw the world the same way I do). The Scott whom I haven't truly had contact with since about 2016. Make no mistake, it was my absolute joy to care for the new Scott, and to form a relationship with him that was different from our old relationship, and that evolved over time as he did. I still cherished simply being with him, listening to music and singing, going for walks, eating desserts, giving him foot massages. But after seven and a half years, truthfully, it's been challenging to recall what Scotty was like before he got sick. It has taken me these two weeks to conjure those older memories. Your photos have helped.

Scott was a complex combination of admirable and noble traits. He was a wonderful, magnetic, irresistible person. He had a jovial, fun spirit. He liked to make others laugh and he had his own fantastic cackle of a laugh that didn’t come out very often because he was a pretty tough audience, but if you said something funny and it landed just right and Scotty laughed, then he howled. He was a creative artist who wrote many novels and stories, comics, and screenplays. He wrote every single day before he did anything else. Scotty never wanted to be anything but a writer. He was prolific in fiction and journaling. I am so lucky to have these books as his legacy.

I have always been guarded. Scott was the opposite of that. He was open and trusting, and he taught me to be more trusting. He taught me the world wasn't as scary a place as I thought it was. He believed -- perhaps he knew? -- that most people were decent, and he proceeded on that belief. It gave him his welcoming heart. He was always open to meeting new people and making new friends.

Scott was ethically courageous -- more than once he put himself in harm's way to defend total strangers. He was also quietly charitable -- he was never rich, but he gave generously to the causes he believed in, and never boasted about it.

Scotty loved classical music, mainly from the 20th century, and had a wide-ranging knowledge of it. And not just the music, but the composers and musicians, who they were married to, who their parents were, under what bizarre circumstances they died, and on and on. We spent many afternoons and evenings at various venues enjoying live music and theatre together. He frequently listened to loud, bombastic, 20th century classical music in the mornings at home, and then watched loud, bombastic horror or action movies at night. He enjoyed showing me his cinematic and television favorites from the 1960s and 70s like "The Prisoner" and "The Stuntman" and "The Good the Bad and the Ugly." I enjoyed showing him mine from the 1980s. His were great. Mine were awful.

Scott was mindful before mindfulness was cool. He never worried about the future. He never dwelled on the past. He was chill in the moment, and nobody taught him to do that. I don’t know where he learned it. He claimed that as a kid he was very anxious and that he taught himself to be laid back, so…man. Pretty impressive. He wasn't prone to worry or despair or gloom or depression, and just had a calming presence.

He also had such a wry sense of humor and such a quick wit that he and I laughed together often. He was seriously funny. I know many of you remember his sense of humor fondly. And Scott and I hugged each other many, many times a day -- for that I am thankful.

Scott was an incredible friend to the animals. He rescued three crows, one when he was a kid, and two in the time I knew him, including once by reaching his whole arm up into our fireplace flue and grabbing the bird with his bare hands. He loved the crows - we spent lots of time together watching them do their crow thing. He loved all our doggies dearly, and we enjoyed so many walks and bike rides with them around our neighborhood. Those are precious memories.

Scott was the most thoughtful and creative gift-giver. He made me feel unique. I cherished him for that.

Probably my favorite trait of Scott's was that he was unapologetically and unabashedly authentic. He never let a fear of public shaming, or his affections or loyalties for anyone prevent him from speaking his own truth or for speaking up for what he believed was right. There was a fearlessness and a fervor about Scott’s commitment to the truth that I haven’t seen in anyone to the degree I saw in him. It is a quality I aspired to while he was alive and one I aspire to even more now that he is gone. I feel we need more more authenticity in the world.

Scott loved me. And defended me. And I protected and loved Scott with my whole being. We made a promise in 1997 to stay with each other forever, and we did. Despite a whole lot of people telling us first that we shouldn’t, and then that we couldn’t, and then we wouldn’t stay together. We did.

Scott was a true bohemian, unconcerned with worldly trappings. He knew what was important: love, art, human connection, sensuality, friendship, personal liberty. He had a wisdom too progressive for this constrained time and place. To grieve him now that he has found the ultimate freedom from earthly encumbrances seems selfish. This grief I feel is for me, because I can no longer hear his laugh, feel his arms around me, kiss him and stroke his hair. For Scott, I aspire to feel joy that he is totally and completely released now.

One more thing. Scott was the only person I ever met who seemed genuinely unafraid of death and dying. We talked about it a lot and he would always say calmly, “What’s there to be afraid of?” Indeed.