I remember early in our marriage when Scott worked out of the home, he would often be ordering parts for an upcoming project that he was working on for his product development company. He was always anticipating the arrival of the next package. On the day the UPS man would come, Scott would somehow hear the sound of the truck slow down in front of our house. Then, with no less excitement than a kid hearing the ice-cream truck in the neighborhood, he would run from his office, past the kitchen, to the front door exclaiming, “The UPS man is here! The UPS man is here!” This wasn’t a one-time occurrence; he did it almost every time, for years. I’m not kidding. It wasn’t until after his passing that I realized where this particular behavior might have come from.

It was one night, a few months later, when a friend and I were watching one of his “bucket list” movies: The Jerk, starring Steve Martin. There’s a scene when Martin’s character gets overly excited about the delivery of the new phone books (because his name is in it). He starts running and shouting with unbridled excitement, “The new phone books are here! The new phone books are here!” Ah, now I get it. I finally see where Scott might have got that from.

Some months later I was working on a song about saying goodbye to Scott, remembering the final days in hospice. One line of the song was inspired by a poem written over 100 years ago. In the poem a man speaks of missing his dearly departed wife but being reminded that she’s doing well, more than well. And when it’s his time to leave this earth, she will be there to greet him, and “show to him the city beautiful.”

For some reason, at that moment in time, while working on that song at the piano, yet another connection was made. I saw my Scott on the other side, seeing my ship when it comes in to shore—shouting, running, delighting in my arrival, “She’s here, Pam’s here! She’s finally here!” Tears flooded my eyes as the further connections were made: “The Jerk”, the UPS man, the 100 year old poem, saying goodbye in hospice, the thought of seeing him again on the other side. I pictured him, in the heavenlies, delighted beyond belief that I finally got it. And one day when it’s my time to leave here, I’m sure he’ll be the first to greet me, a most joy-filled tour guide, who will show to me my heavenly home. It’s not goodbye, it’s “see you later; see you in the morning!”

Goodnight My Love

Goodnight my love, I’ll see you in the morning light.
Sweet dreams my love as you lay your head down.
Close your eyes, for waking, all will be beautiful.
Goodnight my love, I’ll see you in the morning.

Goodnight my love, you fought your battles oh so bravely.
No fear, my love, as you lay your sword down.
Your ship will sail, but you know that when you reach that next shore,
The sun will be rising–and the night will be no more!

And oh, all the glorious wonders that you’ll see!
Someday to show that city beautiful to me!
And though right now my heart is sad and torn,
I know I’ll see you in the morning.

Go on to sleep. I’ll be up just a little longer.
And then I’ll close my eyes and lay my head down.
But waking, love, we’ll dance together in the dawning.
And all that’s been lost will then be found!

And oh all the glorious wonders that we’ll see!
As you show that city beautiful to me!
And they’ll be no more hearts, sad and torn.
It will finally be the morning.

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The boys are growing up!   This was at a wedding of my niece in Ohio, the summer of 2012.