One of my grandma's favorite quotes echoed in my mind: "You can do anything you put your mind to." Little did I know how profoundly those words, and the memory of a dear friend, would resonate with me in recent days.
Scott Hancock, a beloved contributor to the Island Park News, touched countless lives with his words and his spirit. So when stomach troubles began plaguing him this past spring, a quiet worry settled over us. That concern quickly turned to devastation a few months later when doctors diagnosed him with cancer.
I stood by his hospital bed one day, searching for words, any words, to offer a glimmer of hope.
"I've had a good life," he replied to my clumsy attempts at comfort. "But I don't think I should fight this, not at my age anyway."
Tears welled in my eyes, and I turned, not wanting him or his family to see my grief.
"Elisa," he said, always thinking of others. "I don't want this to affect your journey. You need to keep fighting for Mike and the kids. You're much younger than I am, and I believe in you. You're strong and you can do this. You can beat cancer; I just know it."
"But so can you," I practically whimpered. "People need you," I managed, my voice thick with emotion. "All of us need you."
He offered a sad smile. "It's my time."
Scott passed away a few weeks later.
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It feels ridiculous to dwell on my own struggles when Scott faced so much worse.... Yet, this month I forgot how lucky I am to still be alive when so many others—much better people than I am—have passed away from this horrific disease. Just last week, instead of feeling grateful that I'm alive, my thoughts shifted to how my capabilities have undeniably changed: Sometimes a profound fatigue will descend and keep me in bed for too many hours each day. I can't walk far without feeling weak and exhausted. I can't even stand for very long anymore....
Luckily, Scott's celebration of life shook me back into reality and ended my self-pity.
Colleen, Scott's widow, is one of the most amazing you could ever meet, and she did an incredible job setting up Scott's celebration of life. Colleen had asked me to play "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" on my violin, and I was honored beyond words. But on the morning of the event, I didn't feel the greatest, so I rallied my inner strength and prayed for help. Anyway, my body actually hurt less and things seemed better! It's a good thing because Colleen's words that day changed my outlook just as much as Scott's memory did.
"Scott always loved eagles," Colleen shared with the gathering, her voice a testament to her own remarkable strength. "This morning, my neighbors saw a fledgling eagle not too far from where we're gathered right now." A shiver ran down my arm because the timing felt too uncanny, too significant to be mere coincidence.
Then, after speaking about the eagle, Colleen read "The Men That Don't Fit In," a Robert Service poem that Scott cherished. The words visibly impacted the crowd, and several people wiped tears from their eyes.
Colleen then generously opened the microphone to others. "Does anyone else have something they'd like to share about Scott?"
A woman walked to the mic, her chestnut hair swaying as she moved forward. "A long time ago," she began, "my uncle applied to work at a grocery store, but when the owner saw him, he shook his head sadly. 'You can't be in a wheelchair and work as a box boy,' the man said. But Uncle Scott begged for a chance, even offering to work an entire shift for free. So, they reluctantly gave him the opportunity, and at the end of the day, Uncle Scott had finished faster than anyone else!" A smile lit her face as she recalled the story. "The owner called to him, 'Hey! You're hired.' 'No,' Uncle Scott said. 'I just wanted to prove to you that people who are disabled can actually do stuff too.'" She paused, stepping back briefly from the microphone. "That's something he gave me... No matter where we are in life or what we're going through, we can still do things."
Her words hit me like a ton of bricks, and I instantly knew they would positively change my outlook forever,
After that, people continued sharing incredible stories about my friend, but it was the grocery store memory that lingered with me, a powerful example of Scott's last words to me: "You can do this."
A sudden conviction stirred in my heart. What's the point of being alive if I'm not truly living? It's true, there are many things I can't do now, BUT there are a multitude of things that I can do. If Scott, despite his struggles and "limitations," could achieve so much and inspire countless others, then I, too, can pull myself together and strive to be more like him.
Remembering his unwavering belief in me has completely inspired me to reclaim the "I cans" in my life. It's time to shift my focus to capabilities instead of limitations.
That quote my grandma loved rings truer than ever: "You can do anything you put your mind to." I need to believe that I can. I need to believe that we ALL can.
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