So, I’m in the air again today, brother Scott, this time a quick one day turn around to New York City, rebounding home tomorrow. You always told me, especially in those last months and weeks and days, how you envied my travels. My gallivanting to hither and yon, seeing new sights, tasting new foods, experiencing new . . . experiences.
Well, I’ll get into Newark around 3:30, pick up my rental car, then head toward Queens and my Comfort Inn. I’ll find a FedEx Office nearby and print the copies that I need, then seek out a place for dinner with a few craft brews on tap. I’ll bring my Kindle and read a few more chapters of Mukherjee’s The Emperor of All Maladies. You’d like this one; it’s a CSI-ish search using the evidence of history to find the origins of cancer. Yeah, the roots of the Big C, that foul slayer of thee. At some point tonight I expect I’ll hoist a pint to you, perhaps coaxing the imbibers around me to join in. “To Scott, my brother. My elder. Gone now two years. Slàinte.”
And I’ll rise at dawn and greet my audience at 8, do my thing until noon, then aim my way back to Newark and home. Good times, eh?
I’m not sure I told you enough, Scott, in those final days, that for all my cities and miles and points and free drinks in first class, I envied you more than you could have ever envied me. I think about it often. Every day, in fact. And because of you — in honor of you — I’ve slowed myself down a bit. Given myself that chance to smell the roses.