Nineteen years ago, we lost my younger brother, Scott, in a car accident. It devastated our entire family to say the least. My dad called me at my dorm at LSU and gave me the news. His robotic voice made me laugh at first, thinking he was playing a joke or something. But then he told me the news- "Your brother was killed in a car accident driving down Hotsy Totsy Road today." My mouth dropped and all I remember saying was, "Which one?" He paused and then said, "Scott... it was Scott." I remember going home to my mom's house from LSU the night it happened. The entire ride there felt like an eternity, but I remember being in what I now know as one of the stages of grief: denial. I kept thinking that the police must have had the wrong child, that Scott was still alive. Unfortunately, it wasn't the case. Mom was sitting in the living room on the phone trying to explain what had happened to someone else. I was numb and had to watch her explain it all to be sure it was really true. It seemed like the phone never stopped ringing. I went to use the bathroom and when I walked in, the shower walls were still wet from when he showered just a little while before he left. His dirty clothes were the only ones in the hamper. I could still smell him. I went into his room, lied down on his bed and stared at all of the posters and pictures on his walls. What once was covered with mostly athletes from the Atlanta Braves, Saints, and LSU now had a few heavy metal bands like Metallica and Megadeth and some models like Cindy Crawford in her bikini. He had grown up since I had last been there!
Growing up, I always felt like Scott and I were the most similar. Except, he was much smarter than me- than anyone else really. So smart that teachers did not understand his logic and dry humor. He was asked to leave our Catholic grade school because of it! But I remember he took the SAT in elementary school and did really well. He took honors classes at the public school down the street (KEEP). I worried that he kept too much of his knowledge inside and didn't know how to express himself. As a young boy, he seemed conflicted or like he was always up to something. I sat down next to him one day when we lived on South Drive. He had been in trouble or was angry about something. I sat down to talk to him and he stabbed me in the thigh with a pencil. I was shocked and horrified he had done this. I didn't understand... but I don't hink he did either. I still have a scar and touch it every so often, thinking of him.
Luckily, later as he matured and went to high school in New Orleans at Jesuit, he grew up and became the sweetest, most thoughtful, and sensitive young man. He told me I looked pretty one time and that he liked how my hair looked in a pony tail once. That was kinda weird for your brother of all people to say to you- especially during those awkward times of high school. We bonded b/c my job was to bring and pick him up from the Time Saver convienence store to meet the carpool for the drive across Lake Pontchartrain to Jesuit. We talked about music a lot. I started really liking R.E.M. and 10,000 Maniacs. I brought my casette tapes along in Mom's white station wagon, which we affectionately named "White Lightning". He tried to convince me to listen to heavy metal, but that wasn't my style at all. But he tried! He never complained once when I took my executive power of being older and vetoed any other music than my own.
I couldn't wait to go to college and turned into a big rebel at home. I feel bad for my mom because I never told her how sorry I am that I put her through all of that. I was disobeying her and not being thoughtful at all. I made bad choices. Mom had been going through a rough time herself because she and her husband, Paul, had been separated. So, it was just Mom, Scott, and me living together. Gretchen and Jeff were away at Auburn and Timmy was living with Dad. I left for LSU and thought I'd never look back to Mandeville. I couldn't wait to get out of that town. Or so I thought...
I came home every so often to visit, do laundry, eat some of Mom's good food and to bring leftovers back with me. I started dating a fraternity boy I met named Sal. He was from Chalmette, which was about an hour or so away. His aunt lived nearby in Covington, so he drove me home one weekend in October, 1991. There was no home game that weekend, so the campus was deserted. As I was putting my suitcase and clean laundry in the trunk of the car, Scott was standing there looking like a sad little puppy. I hadn't noticed at first, but when I went to tell him goodbye, he reached out and hugged me. He even told me he loved me. I was flattered but honestly thought it was a little strange b/c we just didn't do that to one another. I replied with a sisterly nudge on his arm. He waved as we drove away and I remember him standing there wearing his satin Chicago Cubs jacket Dad had given him. He wore it all the time. That was the last time I ever saw him alive.
A few days later, he called me at my dorm, but I was on the other line with someone else. He said he missed me and asked if I would be coming home again that weekend. We had a home game so I told him no. I told him I would call him back since I was on the other line. He sounded a little lonely but after my call, I got busy with something else and never called him back. That was the last time I talked to him and heard his voice.
You might wonder why I am writing such a sad story here. The reason I am is because I am now in the last stage of grief... acceptance. Scott died in a car accident on Nov. 12, 1991. That was 19 years ago today. Each year, that date gets a little bit easier to bear. I don't think it will ever be just a normal day to me, but at least I can now get out of my bed that day. The only time that got me through this pain and got me here was time, God, and my family. I was angry at God for a long time for this. I couldn't understand why this happened to us. But I realize now that God's heart broke as much as ours did when we heard the news. He was always there waiting for us to ask for his help and comfort. And knowing now where Scott is - in Heaven - makes it that much easier to bear.
19 Your righteousness, God, reaches to the heavens,
you who have done great things.
Who is like you, God?
20 Though you have made me see troubles,
many and bitter,
you will restore my life again;
from the depths of the earth
you will again bring me up.
21 You will increase my honor
and comfort me once more.
22 I will praise you with the harp
for your faithfulness, my God;
I will sing praise to you with the lyre,
Holy One of Israel.
23 My lips will shout for joy
when I sing praise to you—
I whom you have delivered.
24 My tongue will tell of your righteous acts
all day long,
for those who wanted to harm me
have been put to shame and confusion.
Psalm 71:19-24 (NIV)
Scott Andrew Kreller, the world is not the same without you. I miss you terribly and cannot wait until we meet again many years from now. Until that day, I can only wait and pray.
