Early afternoon, Joe and I drove to St. Henry's for Scott McRae's visitation. We wanted to get their early to share a quick moment, if possible, with Tina, Daniel, and the girls, to pay our respects to Scott. It's so hard in a brief exchange with someone, with people lined up in front of you and behind you, to communicate in a few sentences how much someone like Scott meant to you.
Joe and I did the best we could. I was able to give Tina a hug, meet Scott's mother, and shake hands with the girls. I got a little choked up when I gave Daniel a hug, last of all. Already, he looks so much more grown up than he did when all of this began, 18 months ago. That's by necessity, I think. Although he's the baby of the family, so to speak, Daniel suddenly finds himself the man of the house. No one wants him to feel that way but he will.
Having lost my father when I was five years old and growing up in a house with a single mother and two sisters, I get it. I thought I was the man of the house, too. I had to grow up faster in a lot of ways than most of my friends. I had a sense of life's impermanency, of my own mortality, before a lot of my friends did. Every situation is different, of course. Still, that's just part of what happens, I think, when you lose a parent at a young age.
Joe and I ran in to Sharon Glenn and her son, Trey. I was shocked to see Trey, 14 years old and in the 9th grade, taller and slimmed down. Trey began playing baseball for me when he was five or six years old, as I recall. Always smiling with a mouth full of teeth, somewhat prone to injury, as I remember him missing time after breaking his wrist riding a bicycle. Eminently coachable. Big bat. Quick on his feet for a larger boy, I played him at 1st base and 3rd base for the most part. A big teddy bear.
Trey's not playing baseball anymore, which makes me sad. He's a very young 9th grader at Brentwood High School - maybe the youngest in his class - and that has always worked against him when it came to trying to make the middle school baseball teams. It's tough for me, selfishly, when my guys give up baseball because it signifies the end of a chapter in my life. Maybe the best chapter, actually.
I vividly recall an all-star game in Franklin a couple of years ago when Trey, playing with Scott's Braves, injured his ankle sliding into second base. Scott and I carried Trey off the field - no easy task because he's a big boy - after which we waited for a trainer or an EMT. He was out for the tournament but didn't have a fracture, fortunately.
I also remember attending visitation when my mother died. Later, he wrote me a note, one I still have. I cried as a read it, in the handwriting of an innocent boy who was eight years old at the time. Trey Glenn, one of my all time favorites to coach.
Joe and I left visitation and had lunch at the Well by David Lipscomb, still dressed up. It was nice to spend some quiet time with Joe and decompress a little bit. In many ways, those are the moments that matter.
We drove back to Scott's Mass at St. Henry's at 3:30 p.m. Other than for Christmas, I don't think I ever have seen the church so packed, everyone there to celebrate Scott's life, so well lives, and to support Tina and the kids. I was overwhelmed with the palpable feeling of love and passion that was present in the church.
Mike LaLonde and his family walked in behind us, after we were seated. He gave my arm a quick squeeze. I looked down the aisle in front of us and saw Scott Tygard, of the West Nashville Sports League. It was very nice of him to be there.
When I realized that John Spencer, one of Scott's (and my) players, was solemnly serving as an alter boy, I felt tears in my eyes. Scott would have loved that, I know.
The service was beautiful. Tina's eulogy was perfect. Poignant, funny, uplifting, and memorable. It struck all of the right notes. I was in awe of her strength and poise as she stood in the front of the church and shared her thoughts and feelings with us, all four children standing behind her.
What stood out the most for me, I think, was when she asked anyone who had attended chapel on a Tuesday night or prayed for Scott to stand up, everyone stood up. Every single person, or so it seemed, rose as one. It was a powerful and memorable moment.
This week, I've found myself thinking about Scott McRae, still, as well as Tina and the children. I know there's a lesson to be learned in all of this, one that I am trying to discern. That will come to me in time, I think.
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