Scott had a very special relationship with his grandfather, Pops. Pops was a wonderful man. Kind, generous, but feisty and full of fight. Nothing could crush his spirit. He had an aneurism that killed him, but they brought him back from the dead to give him 15 years of life. A life that he enjoyed despite severe emphysema. It was at the end of those 15 years that I met him. He couldn’t do many of the things he once enjoyed, so he set out to find new things to enjoy that he could do with his reduced health. His wife lived those 15 years as borrowed time, enjoying every minute with him, wasting not even a moment on the things that aren’t important.
We were living in Chicago, pursuing graduate degrees at the University of Chicago. At least once a year we’d make the treck up to Northern Michigan to visit Pops and Grandma. They were very social people, and we loved to see them as much as they enjoyed us visiting. On on of those visits, after listening to Grandma’s story about visiting Chicago, Pops said “The city is no place to raise a family.”
That phrase stuck with us and has been a large driving force in our lives. Dreaming, planning and working towards a life that Pops would be proud of.
We’ve done it, Pops. I know he’s looking down with pride in the life we are able to give our children. Not in the city and the rat race, but on an island in Northern Michigan, at home with their parents, surrounded by friends.