In memory of my baby brother, Jeremy Scott, May 3, 1976-June 18, 1999.

Today is not any special day or anything. It’s not your birthday, Thanksgiving, or Christmas, or even the 4th of July that you always enjoyed so much. It is just one of the many days you cross my mind.
I have never known this kind of pain and, believe me, I know pain! You were taken from us so violently, and what made it even worse was it was by your own hand. You shot yourself in in the head in Mom’s front yard on the lake, and she had to be the one to find you. What were you thinking?

I remember clearly the last time I saw you. You called me on the phone and asked me if I would store Dad’s Sears Craftsman tool box in our garage because you really didn’t have anywhere to store it at your place. I told you to bring it on over. When you got there, I sent our son with you down to the garage, which was located behind the house at the edge of the woods down near our catfish pond. After the two of you started back up the driveway, I looked out the kitchen window at you where I was standing washing dishes. You must have heard the dishes rattle, because you looked up at the window, but neither of us said anything. I didn’t speak because I thought you were going to come inside for a few minutes.

When my son came back inside, I asked him where you were and he said you had gone back home. You didn’t live far from us, maybe a couple of miles, so I called you and asked you why you didn’t come in. You told me you just had a lot to do. We talked for a few more minutes, and we hung up.

I don’t remember much about the conversation, except you telling me that you had a lot to do. I hope just before we hung up I told you I loved you. There are so many things I can’t remember now.

If there could have been any way for me to know that would be the last time I would ever see you and talk to you, I would have run outside looking deep into your beautiful green eyes, hugging you with every fiber of my being. I would have told you how very much I love you, and what a special young man you have been to our family and I, and so many others. I would also have kissed you a thousand times all over your face.

I am your big sister. Why didn’t I see this coming? God always led me to you when you were in trouble. It was like I had a sixth sense, but I know it was Him. Why didn’t He do it this time? Was I just not listening?
Twenty-three is way to young die. My daughter is this age now, and she has blessed us with a beautiful baby boy. He looks so much like you did when you were a baby it is uncanny. It comforts me to think you picked him out and sent him to us. You’d be forty now. It’s hard to imagine you at that age since we lost you so young.

The demons who tortured you so did not win in the end. I know where you are, and I know you have a brand new body. You are safe in the arms of Jesus where no one can ever hurt you again. You are free from the torture, pain, and mental illness that plagued you in life.We will be together again one sweet day. I love and miss you more than words could ever properly convey. I forgive you.

Always and forever your big sis,


“Blessed are the poor in spirit for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”--Matthew 5:3 NIV