~ Weep Not for the Memories~
Perhaps they are not stars, but rather openings in Heaven
where the love of our lost ones pours through
and shines down upon us to let us know they are happy.
I did not know that the work of mourning is like carrying a bag of cement up a mountain at night.
Look closely and you will see almost everyone carrying bags of cement on their shoulders.
I did not know that the work of mourning is a labor in the dark we carry inside ourselves.
When his suffering ended my own began.
I don't want to wake up crying every morning for God knows how long.
I'm not worried about a heart attack, Nothingness, you've already broken my heart.
Gabriel, A Poem, by Edward Hirsch
Look closely and you will see almost everyone carrying bags of cement on their shoulders.
I did not know that the work of mourning is a labor in the dark we carry inside ourselves.
When his suffering ended my own began.
I don't want to wake up crying every morning for God knows how long.
I'm not worried about a heart attack, Nothingness, you've already broken my heart.
Gabriel, A Poem, by Edward Hirsch
In Remembrance . . .
On the day we stop to celebrate matters of the heart, his did.
Beloved son, brother, nephew . . . and friend - to ALL.
On the day we stop to celebrate matters of the heart, his did.
Beloved son, brother, nephew . . . and friend - to ALL.
Valentine's Day 2016
Rob's tribute to Scott. . .
[begins at the :20 counter) - December 2014]
This Valentine's Day...
the 14th of February 2015...
the first anniversary of his passing,
we remember his ways,
his love for us,
and our love for him.
The sadness is profound,
but so is the peace that
we know he has finally found.
This Valentine's Day...
the 14th of February 2015...
the first anniversary of his passing,
we remember his ways,
his love for us,
and our love for him.
The sadness is profound,
but so is the peace that
we know he has finally found.
Scott Edward Patka
February 20, 1978 - February 14, 2014
My mind can go in a thousand directions:
May all beings plagued with sufferings of body and mind be quickly released.
May the frightened cease to be afraid, and those bound be freed.
May we discover through pain and torment the strength to live with humor.
May we discover through doubt and anguish, the strength to simply live the time we ought to live.
May we discover in suffering and fear, the strength to move toward healing.
May Life grant us wellness of body, spirit and mind - but if this cannot be so -
may we find in our passage those moments of meaning, those opportunities for love,
and the deep calm that comes when we allow ourselves to move on.
Now, I walk in peace. ~Buddhist Prayer
Click > to access the music.
The song is called "This Too Shall Pass" by the band OK Go. It's the song that reminds Mary Kate; Scott's sister-in-law, most of him - because not so long ago Scott danced in their kitchen to this very song - and, says "MK," - "Of course, it involves a marching band."
The lyrics are:
Y'know you can't keep letting it get you down, and you can't keep draggin' dead weight around.
It really IS all that much to lug around. Better run like hell when you hit the ground.
When the morning comes... when the morning comes.
Can't stop those kids from dancing - but why would you want to, especially when they're already gettin' good?
'Cause if your mind don't move then your knees don't bend but don't go blaming the kids again.
When the morning comes... when the morning comes...
When the morning comes... when the morning comes...
When the morning comes... WHEN THE MORNING COMES!
Let it go! This too shall pass.
LET IT GO! THIS TOO SHALL PASS!
No, you CAN'T keep lettin' it get you down! You CAN'T keep lettin' it get you down!
Oh it is really that much to lug around. Oh, you can't keep lettin' it get you down!
When the morning comes... you can't keep lettin' it get you down!
When the morning comes... you can't keep lettin' it get you down!
WHEN THE MORNING COMES!
Scott has come to all the mornings that shall never end - and we are quite sure that they involve
- a marching band - (maybe even a choir of angels).
The song is called "This Too Shall Pass" by the band OK Go. It's the song that reminds Mary Kate; Scott's sister-in-law, most of him - because not so long ago Scott danced in their kitchen to this very song - and, says "MK," - "Of course, it involves a marching band."
The lyrics are:
Y'know you can't keep letting it get you down, and you can't keep draggin' dead weight around.
It really IS all that much to lug around. Better run like hell when you hit the ground.
When the morning comes... when the morning comes.
Can't stop those kids from dancing - but why would you want to, especially when they're already gettin' good?
'Cause if your mind don't move then your knees don't bend but don't go blaming the kids again.
When the morning comes... when the morning comes...
When the morning comes... when the morning comes...
When the morning comes... WHEN THE MORNING COMES!
Let it go! This too shall pass.
LET IT GO! THIS TOO SHALL PASS!
No, you CAN'T keep lettin' it get you down! You CAN'T keep lettin' it get you down!
Oh it is really that much to lug around. Oh, you can't keep lettin' it get you down!
When the morning comes... you can't keep lettin' it get you down!
When the morning comes... you can't keep lettin' it get you down!
WHEN THE MORNING COMES!
Scott has come to all the mornings that shall never end - and we are quite sure that they involve
- a marching band - (maybe even a choir of angels).
The first photos were taken at Rob & Mary Kate's home, where we were all invited to gather. We brought all the photos we had, from which Andrea created her photo boards in tribute to Scott.
Click on > above to begin the musical selection. Hover over pic below & select Play.
Click on > above to begin the musical selection. Hover over pic below & select Play.
All sorrows can be borne if you put them in a story. ~ Karen Blixen
Scott's Eulogy by Andrea Patka, February 25, 2014
I once told Scott how nervous I got when I spoke in public. He told me, "Mil," eat a banana 45 minutes to an hour before you have to present. There are natural beta-blockers in bananas, which help ease nerves." To this very day I eat a banana before every presentation and, I have to say, it works. Here's hoping that today is no exception.
I was telling my Ma how I didn't know how I was going to give this eulogy without it being peppered with swear words. Dad said, "You can't swear in church." Rob said, "It's okay. St. Rita's a chapel not a church." I'll (just) try not to let any slip out so as not to get smited by God - although Scott did enjoy a nice smiting.
Andrea Emily and Scott Edward Patka were born on February 20, 1978 and 8:00 and 8:02 a.m. respectively. That 2-minute difference would later be something that I would lord over Scott for four years of our lives at St. Clare of Montefalco grammar school. You see, the oldest child in the household got to take home "the brown envelope" which contained important information for parents; calendars, school news - that kind of thing. When Rob graduated 8th grade it may have been one of my happiest days, because it meant that I was now the next in line to bring home "the brown envelope."
We were baptized by our great uncle Father Frank. My parents said that he was going through his "Spanish phase" when he gave Scott and me both a string of baptismal names. I became Andrea Emily Gretel Mary and Scott became Scott Edward Hansel Joseph. Hansel & Gretel I get but Mary & Joseph weren't brother and sister so that always left me scratching my head a bit. But, Reverend Fr. Frank, like most Patkas and Cieslarskis, enjoyed a libation from time to time. That may have had something to do with it.
At a very young age, I garnered the nickname "Mil" which many of you still call me to this day. I used to tell people that "Mil" came from my Grandma Emily, who was in fact called Mil, too. But, in actuality, "Mil" came from Dad dubbing me "Ludmilla Ludmilovska," a Russian shot-putter who had immense thunder thighs just like I had as a baby. Scott loved telling our friends this story whenever he got a chance because he knew how embarrassed it made me. He also loved telling people that I looked like a Down's baby when were were little and insisted that they ask my Mom to show them the picture.
Growing up as twins we always got asked the same questions: Do you have special powers? Andrea, do you feel pain when Scott does? And the all-time classic: Are you identical? That one always made us laugh because, apparently, basic genetics escapes most people.
When were were growing up on Richmond Street we had a little neighbor girl named Kate that lived close by. She couldn't pronounce "Andrea" so she called me "Antreesa" which Scott would later morph into "Aunt Theresa" and then Mother Teresa - because he called me "the heart" of our family. We also had these uber Polish people on our block. Their son was named Daniel. I can hear in my head right now Scott impersonating Daniel's father saying, "Hutch too, Daniel. Hutch too." ("Wchodzic' tutaj, Daniel.')
As you all know, Scott was infamous for his impersonations. Some of the favorites over the years were a leprechaun on St. Patty's Day. You're all probably hearing Scott say, "sha shi sha shi" as he danced around - or McBane from The Simpsons; saying, "These goggles do nahhh-theeng," a character modeled after the great Arnold Schwarzenneger, whom Scott loved. Maybe your favorite was Mick from Rocky saying, "You know what you are, Rock? You're a tomato." I think the best, however, were his impersonations of our uncles Mark and Andy. Scott always called "U.M." the Polish Don of the family and Uncle Andy - Uncle Chub - "Choobee." Obviously, there were many f-bombs dropped during these impersonations of his but I'll keep those out and leave you to enjoy the memory in your own minds. And, of course, who can forget Scott mimicking, "I got bags, Pattie!" that Pa would say every day that he came over to our house after junkin'.
I've been hearing Scott in my head every day since his passing and, after speaking aloud these impersonations, right now I'm hearing, "Wow Mil! You really butchered it. You've ruined Christmas. Jesus died for nothing."
I once told Scott how nervous I got when I spoke in public. He told me, "Mil," eat a banana 45 minutes to an hour before you have to present. There are natural beta-blockers in bananas, which help ease nerves." To this very day I eat a banana before every presentation and, I have to say, it works. Here's hoping that today is no exception.
I was telling my Ma how I didn't know how I was going to give this eulogy without it being peppered with swear words. Dad said, "You can't swear in church." Rob said, "It's okay. St. Rita's a chapel not a church." I'll (just) try not to let any slip out so as not to get smited by God - although Scott did enjoy a nice smiting.
Andrea Emily and Scott Edward Patka were born on February 20, 1978 and 8:00 and 8:02 a.m. respectively. That 2-minute difference would later be something that I would lord over Scott for four years of our lives at St. Clare of Montefalco grammar school. You see, the oldest child in the household got to take home "the brown envelope" which contained important information for parents; calendars, school news - that kind of thing. When Rob graduated 8th grade it may have been one of my happiest days, because it meant that I was now the next in line to bring home "the brown envelope."
We were baptized by our great uncle Father Frank. My parents said that he was going through his "Spanish phase" when he gave Scott and me both a string of baptismal names. I became Andrea Emily Gretel Mary and Scott became Scott Edward Hansel Joseph. Hansel & Gretel I get but Mary & Joseph weren't brother and sister so that always left me scratching my head a bit. But, Reverend Fr. Frank, like most Patkas and Cieslarskis, enjoyed a libation from time to time. That may have had something to do with it.
At a very young age, I garnered the nickname "Mil" which many of you still call me to this day. I used to tell people that "Mil" came from my Grandma Emily, who was in fact called Mil, too. But, in actuality, "Mil" came from Dad dubbing me "Ludmilla Ludmilovska," a Russian shot-putter who had immense thunder thighs just like I had as a baby. Scott loved telling our friends this story whenever he got a chance because he knew how embarrassed it made me. He also loved telling people that I looked like a Down's baby when were were little and insisted that they ask my Mom to show them the picture.
Growing up as twins we always got asked the same questions: Do you have special powers? Andrea, do you feel pain when Scott does? And the all-time classic: Are you identical? That one always made us laugh because, apparently, basic genetics escapes most people.
When were were growing up on Richmond Street we had a little neighbor girl named Kate that lived close by. She couldn't pronounce "Andrea" so she called me "Antreesa" which Scott would later morph into "Aunt Theresa" and then Mother Teresa - because he called me "the heart" of our family. We also had these uber Polish people on our block. Their son was named Daniel. I can hear in my head right now Scott impersonating Daniel's father saying, "Hutch too, Daniel. Hutch too." ("Wchodzic' tutaj, Daniel.')
As you all know, Scott was infamous for his impersonations. Some of the favorites over the years were a leprechaun on St. Patty's Day. You're all probably hearing Scott say, "sha shi sha shi" as he danced around - or McBane from The Simpsons; saying, "These goggles do nahhh-theeng," a character modeled after the great Arnold Schwarzenneger, whom Scott loved. Maybe your favorite was Mick from Rocky saying, "You know what you are, Rock? You're a tomato." I think the best, however, were his impersonations of our uncles Mark and Andy. Scott always called "U.M." the Polish Don of the family and Uncle Andy - Uncle Chub - "Choobee." Obviously, there were many f-bombs dropped during these impersonations of his but I'll keep those out and leave you to enjoy the memory in your own minds. And, of course, who can forget Scott mimicking, "I got bags, Pattie!" that Pa would say every day that he came over to our house after junkin'.
I've been hearing Scott in my head every day since his passing and, after speaking aloud these impersonations, right now I'm hearing, "Wow Mil! You really butchered it. You've ruined Christmas. Jesus died for nothing."
All kidding aside, I think you'd agree that one of the most memorable things about Scott was his work ethic. I always attributed it to our parents and we often spoke to others about the solid Patka/Midwestern work ethic. But I recently learned from my Ma that Scott cited Pa as the one that instilled such a strong work ethic in him.
Rob said something that stuck with me. He said that although Scott battled illness and constant relocations for work, he did so with stoutness and little complaint - always "getting it done and getting it dialed in" - in true Patka/Cieslarski fashion. Whenever Scott found himself in a tough predicament he'd always tell me, "It's a shit sandwich any way you slice it." (Andrea pauses...) Sorry, just waiting for the smiting to come. Wait for it....
We sit here and we're all trying to make sense of something that is nonsensical. February 20th we would have turned 36, but instead of calling Scott to wish him "happy birthday" I was flying to New Jersey with Dad to clean out his home and meet with a lawyer.
Scott used to hate when I texted while driving in the car with him. It would make him SO angry! So, I was driving to Oak Brook this past weekend, texting of course, when a rock suddenly came up and hit my windshield. I now have a nice spidering obstructing my field of vision and I can hear Scott saying, "How many times have I told ya?" I didn't pick up my phone again for fear of what he might do next! I kept thinking, "Really, Scott? Really? The last week and a half hasn't been hard enough? I have to add windshield replacement to the list?" Then, I heard him say, "Here's the world's tiniest violin playing just for you, Mil. Quitcherbitchin' and stout up!"
A memory that I carry with me every day is of a time back in high school when Scott taught me how to achieve perfect posture. He spent four years in St. Rita's Marching Mustangs Band so he knew posture. This may be a bit unorthodox, but so was Scott. I'd like you to do this with me so that I don't look foolish up here being the only one. Ready?
Raise your shoulders up. Push them back. Then push them straight down. Now, you have perfect posture courtesy of Scott Patka. Any time I'm sitting in a chair or in the car and I find myself slouching I always think of Scott when he taught me this. I've probably done it thousands of times over the last two decades. Now, all of you have something of Scott's to carry with you and, hopefully, make you smile when you're feeling down.
Scott, in all his color and hilarity, will be sorely missed by our family and friends through the years to come that we must soldier on without the light and life that he brought to us all. He would expect nothing less than that we DO soldier on- and he would be pissed at us to dwell too long (on him) as there are still far too many things that must continue to get dialed in and get done.
In closing, I'd like to share a quote from Winnie the Pooh. Scott didn't give two shits one way or another about Winnie the Pooh, mind you, but nonetheless the quote reads:
"If there ever comes a day when we can't be together, keep me in your heart. I'll stay there forever."
Rob said something that stuck with me. He said that although Scott battled illness and constant relocations for work, he did so with stoutness and little complaint - always "getting it done and getting it dialed in" - in true Patka/Cieslarski fashion. Whenever Scott found himself in a tough predicament he'd always tell me, "It's a shit sandwich any way you slice it." (Andrea pauses...) Sorry, just waiting for the smiting to come. Wait for it....
We sit here and we're all trying to make sense of something that is nonsensical. February 20th we would have turned 36, but instead of calling Scott to wish him "happy birthday" I was flying to New Jersey with Dad to clean out his home and meet with a lawyer.
Scott used to hate when I texted while driving in the car with him. It would make him SO angry! So, I was driving to Oak Brook this past weekend, texting of course, when a rock suddenly came up and hit my windshield. I now have a nice spidering obstructing my field of vision and I can hear Scott saying, "How many times have I told ya?" I didn't pick up my phone again for fear of what he might do next! I kept thinking, "Really, Scott? Really? The last week and a half hasn't been hard enough? I have to add windshield replacement to the list?" Then, I heard him say, "Here's the world's tiniest violin playing just for you, Mil. Quitcherbitchin' and stout up!"
A memory that I carry with me every day is of a time back in high school when Scott taught me how to achieve perfect posture. He spent four years in St. Rita's Marching Mustangs Band so he knew posture. This may be a bit unorthodox, but so was Scott. I'd like you to do this with me so that I don't look foolish up here being the only one. Ready?
Raise your shoulders up. Push them back. Then push them straight down. Now, you have perfect posture courtesy of Scott Patka. Any time I'm sitting in a chair or in the car and I find myself slouching I always think of Scott when he taught me this. I've probably done it thousands of times over the last two decades. Now, all of you have something of Scott's to carry with you and, hopefully, make you smile when you're feeling down.
Scott, in all his color and hilarity, will be sorely missed by our family and friends through the years to come that we must soldier on without the light and life that he brought to us all. He would expect nothing less than that we DO soldier on- and he would be pissed at us to dwell too long (on him) as there are still far too many things that must continue to get dialed in and get done.
In closing, I'd like to share a quote from Winnie the Pooh. Scott didn't give two shits one way or another about Winnie the Pooh, mind you, but nonetheless the quote reads:
"If there ever comes a day when we can't be together, keep me in your heart. I'll stay there forever."
A mother's thoughts:
On the 20th of February 2014, my twins - Andrea & Scott - were to share the beginning of the 36th year of their lives.
But on Valentine's Day - the day that we stop to celebrate matters of the heart - Scott's did. How often we hear the words that life can change in an heartbeat. Believe it. Also believe that what you keep in your heart is there forever. Scott is a keeper.
"Scooty Scotty," as his grandfather - known as "Pa" - called him, was talented and quick to learn - with a gift for music. Why not? His grandfather was an orchestra violinist in his day, his father a talented tenor, and I played the piano. Piano lessons were definitely in Scott's future, but not for very long. He had about eight weeks training before the keyboard lost out to a little league ball and glove. Years later, Scott wanted to follow in his brother Robert's footsteps and attend the same high school - intent upon becoming a member of the St. Rita High School Marching Mustangs - specifically as a percussionist. But, that required an audition to demonstrate that the boy had at least some musical aptitude. Probably should have stuck with those piano lessons, hmm?
Not a problem. A week before his audition, Scott went through my sheet music and chose "Chariots of Fire" by Vangelis, taught himself to play it, memorized it, came to St. Rita's band room to show what he had to Rita's band director, Ms. Cynthia Gradek - and nailed it. Scott marched the snare or the quad toms for the next four years. When he wasn't marching, he went out for the water polo team, earning the nickname, "Speedo." He was also recruited for St. Rita's Symphonic Band. As Scott told the story, one day Ms. Gradek handed him an instrument and said, "I need a French horn. Learn to play it." He hated that horn. It aggravated the braces on his teeth and made chapped lips bleed - but learn to play it, he did. He also mastered the xylophone and the marimba. It was on the four-mallet marimba that he delivered his senior recital performing Fritz Kreisler's "Tambourin Chinois." His grandfather sat next to me during that recital wiping tears from his eyes. A split second of complete silence engulfed the auditorium at St. Rita that evening when Scott struck the final note of his performance - and then the audience rose to its feet, exploding with applause and shouts of "Bravo!" Scott graduated - in the very chapel where his Mass of Christian Burial marked his passing - with a music scholarship to Illinois State University, and the United States Marine Corp's "Semper Fidelis" Award for Musical Excellence awarded to a single graduating senior.
On the 20th of February 2014, my twins - Andrea & Scott - were to share the beginning of the 36th year of their lives.
But on Valentine's Day - the day that we stop to celebrate matters of the heart - Scott's did. How often we hear the words that life can change in an heartbeat. Believe it. Also believe that what you keep in your heart is there forever. Scott is a keeper.
"Scooty Scotty," as his grandfather - known as "Pa" - called him, was talented and quick to learn - with a gift for music. Why not? His grandfather was an orchestra violinist in his day, his father a talented tenor, and I played the piano. Piano lessons were definitely in Scott's future, but not for very long. He had about eight weeks training before the keyboard lost out to a little league ball and glove. Years later, Scott wanted to follow in his brother Robert's footsteps and attend the same high school - intent upon becoming a member of the St. Rita High School Marching Mustangs - specifically as a percussionist. But, that required an audition to demonstrate that the boy had at least some musical aptitude. Probably should have stuck with those piano lessons, hmm?
Not a problem. A week before his audition, Scott went through my sheet music and chose "Chariots of Fire" by Vangelis, taught himself to play it, memorized it, came to St. Rita's band room to show what he had to Rita's band director, Ms. Cynthia Gradek - and nailed it. Scott marched the snare or the quad toms for the next four years. When he wasn't marching, he went out for the water polo team, earning the nickname, "Speedo." He was also recruited for St. Rita's Symphonic Band. As Scott told the story, one day Ms. Gradek handed him an instrument and said, "I need a French horn. Learn to play it." He hated that horn. It aggravated the braces on his teeth and made chapped lips bleed - but learn to play it, he did. He also mastered the xylophone and the marimba. It was on the four-mallet marimba that he delivered his senior recital performing Fritz Kreisler's "Tambourin Chinois." His grandfather sat next to me during that recital wiping tears from his eyes. A split second of complete silence engulfed the auditorium at St. Rita that evening when Scott struck the final note of his performance - and then the audience rose to its feet, exploding with applause and shouts of "Bravo!" Scott graduated - in the very chapel where his Mass of Christian Burial marked his passing - with a music scholarship to Illinois State University, and the United States Marine Corp's "Semper Fidelis" Award for Musical Excellence awarded to a single graduating senior.
Ultimately, the pursuit of music stood about as much chance of keeping Scott's attention as did those first piano lessons. As he broadened his horizons, he entered his "vagabond period." From Chicago to Southern Illinois to New Orleans to Seattle to Vancouver, there were years when you could never be quite sure where Scott was - or what he was - street musician, house painter, fugitive, or homeless person.
Then came the day when Scott called and said, "Ma, I'm sick. Can you get me home?" Western Union. Greyhound Bus. My desperate call to a remarkable woman - not only once my employer but my friend - who cut through the red tape to get him immediate attention at Chicago's Northwestern Memorial Hospital. Diagnosis: Crohn's Disease. Tough years followed - chemotherapy and the loss of job after job. When employers realized the cost of his treatment, Scott's services were no longer required. But he refused to yield... always anticipating what his efforts might yield.
At about the age of 10, he thought that it was a wonderful idea to try to grow a raised bed garden of corn, peppers, and tomatoes in about 3-feet of space in a city backyard. The family dog , Bear, ate his peppers right off the plant as soon as they were just about ready to pick. Andrea remembered that she'd forgotten that: "I can still hear him yelling 'dammit, Bear!' " Corn never produced an ear - not enough sun - but it didn't matter, he tried - and he loved to try. He loved to cook - must have developed by watching his father in the kitchen because his mother didn't cook. Couldn't stand a dirty sink. Loved to bake bread from scratch. When he had time for TV - it was cooking shows: especially Chopped or his favorite Food Network show with Alton Brown. He loved biscuits & gravy, golombki, grilled asparagus, a nice prime rib, Sushi, Mizo soup, Pizza Hut, and finding a sale on Ramen noodles @ 10 for $1.00.
A fishing vacation was heaven on earth. Scott loved to fish. He loved his dog, Grendel, and entrusted his American Bulldog's care to Andrea when his job took him to far away places. Scott always wanted to take a cruise. He was known to be a big tipper. He smoked Camel Blue Box and he could drink. His ambition was to marry and raise a family. His favorite books were Chaucer's "Canterbury Tales" and the French poet Rimbaud's "A Season in Hell." Scott inherited lousy genetics and his mother's inordinate fear of medical treatment. He especially feared needles, making the recurrent need for IV chemotherapy for Crohn's Disease a real challenge - but Scott responded to everything that life tossed at him with remarkable wit and humor. Scott had "joie de vivre."
Despite physical hardship, his "work ethic" always got him back-to-business. As a boy, Scott spent more hours than he cared to crushing aluminum cans in the damp earthen basement of his grandparents' home in Bridgeport. My Dad developed his own two-man recycling business - well, actually man and boy - back in the day, long before it became a "green thing," and contributed their earnings to the Five Holy Martyrs Parish Scouts that Scott was a part of. From this humble beginning, Scott learned about business. One day long after his grandfather's passing, Scott's business became information technology.
A musical mind is a mathematical mind. Scott acquired training in computer technology, mastered it, was, at times, hired to teach it, and achieved success - securing positions as senior consultant for companies specializing in business intelligence software applications and design modeling. Scott was intent on achieving the success that he saw in his brother and his sister and finally became confident that he'd caught up. He established his own start-up business - Orion Services Inc. - only a year ago last February. A colleague in the industry they shared dubbed Scott "the doctor" - a call or an email was all it took to pick a bit of his brain and come up with a fix for what seemed an insurmountable problem. I was stunned by his colleagues who came to pay their respects to Scott at his visitation - many who had never even met him in person but came to know him for his willingness to help via the worldwide web. The impact that Scott had on the lives of the people who knew and worked with him, or otherwise shared but a brief moment of his life, continues to unveil in the days since his passing. I regret that I don't know so many of them. We are left wanting for his genuine interest in all of us and his "let's do this" approach to problems that needed to be "dialed in and taken care of."
Scott has not failed to "dial in and call home" since his passing. A former colleague of his shared her experience in an email to Andrea: "I wanted to share something with you that happened to me. I was leaving the office when I used my voice-activation/Bluetooth to call home. I spoke, "Call Home." Scott's name and cellphone number appeared on my screen. "Call Home" sounds nothing like "Scott Patka." It brought me to tears. I hope you find some comfort in knowing that he touched many lives." What a testament, from a "total stranger" to us - that Scott IS home.
We will miss his abiding sense of humor. We will miss his willingness and ability to help. But, come the day when we must face that which proves to be truly insurmountable to any one of us, we know that "the doctor is in." In Scott's obituary, we wrote of him - "friend of many." His lifelong friend, Lisa, kindly corrected us: Scott Patka - friend of ALL. Scott Patka - son of mine. I will never be the same having been blessed to share my life with him. These days that come after him will never be the same.
Let us remember Scott in our prayers - or, perhaps, we should ask him to remember us in his? On the day when we shall meet again, Scott will surely say, "Hey! What took you so long?"
I close this memorial with the song, "Something To It," from Scott's favorite band - Great Big Sea. Scott introduced Rob to Newfoundland's own GBS. A concert of theirs was one of the last occasions the brothers shared. Rob said, "I hadn't (ever) heard them and dismissed it as Irish nonsense for years." Things change. Here's to Scott. Now he walks in peace.
Then came the day when Scott called and said, "Ma, I'm sick. Can you get me home?" Western Union. Greyhound Bus. My desperate call to a remarkable woman - not only once my employer but my friend - who cut through the red tape to get him immediate attention at Chicago's Northwestern Memorial Hospital. Diagnosis: Crohn's Disease. Tough years followed - chemotherapy and the loss of job after job. When employers realized the cost of his treatment, Scott's services were no longer required. But he refused to yield... always anticipating what his efforts might yield.
At about the age of 10, he thought that it was a wonderful idea to try to grow a raised bed garden of corn, peppers, and tomatoes in about 3-feet of space in a city backyard. The family dog , Bear, ate his peppers right off the plant as soon as they were just about ready to pick. Andrea remembered that she'd forgotten that: "I can still hear him yelling 'dammit, Bear!' " Corn never produced an ear - not enough sun - but it didn't matter, he tried - and he loved to try. He loved to cook - must have developed by watching his father in the kitchen because his mother didn't cook. Couldn't stand a dirty sink. Loved to bake bread from scratch. When he had time for TV - it was cooking shows: especially Chopped or his favorite Food Network show with Alton Brown. He loved biscuits & gravy, golombki, grilled asparagus, a nice prime rib, Sushi, Mizo soup, Pizza Hut, and finding a sale on Ramen noodles @ 10 for $1.00.
A fishing vacation was heaven on earth. Scott loved to fish. He loved his dog, Grendel, and entrusted his American Bulldog's care to Andrea when his job took him to far away places. Scott always wanted to take a cruise. He was known to be a big tipper. He smoked Camel Blue Box and he could drink. His ambition was to marry and raise a family. His favorite books were Chaucer's "Canterbury Tales" and the French poet Rimbaud's "A Season in Hell." Scott inherited lousy genetics and his mother's inordinate fear of medical treatment. He especially feared needles, making the recurrent need for IV chemotherapy for Crohn's Disease a real challenge - but Scott responded to everything that life tossed at him with remarkable wit and humor. Scott had "joie de vivre."
Despite physical hardship, his "work ethic" always got him back-to-business. As a boy, Scott spent more hours than he cared to crushing aluminum cans in the damp earthen basement of his grandparents' home in Bridgeport. My Dad developed his own two-man recycling business - well, actually man and boy - back in the day, long before it became a "green thing," and contributed their earnings to the Five Holy Martyrs Parish Scouts that Scott was a part of. From this humble beginning, Scott learned about business. One day long after his grandfather's passing, Scott's business became information technology.
A musical mind is a mathematical mind. Scott acquired training in computer technology, mastered it, was, at times, hired to teach it, and achieved success - securing positions as senior consultant for companies specializing in business intelligence software applications and design modeling. Scott was intent on achieving the success that he saw in his brother and his sister and finally became confident that he'd caught up. He established his own start-up business - Orion Services Inc. - only a year ago last February. A colleague in the industry they shared dubbed Scott "the doctor" - a call or an email was all it took to pick a bit of his brain and come up with a fix for what seemed an insurmountable problem. I was stunned by his colleagues who came to pay their respects to Scott at his visitation - many who had never even met him in person but came to know him for his willingness to help via the worldwide web. The impact that Scott had on the lives of the people who knew and worked with him, or otherwise shared but a brief moment of his life, continues to unveil in the days since his passing. I regret that I don't know so many of them. We are left wanting for his genuine interest in all of us and his "let's do this" approach to problems that needed to be "dialed in and taken care of."
Scott has not failed to "dial in and call home" since his passing. A former colleague of his shared her experience in an email to Andrea: "I wanted to share something with you that happened to me. I was leaving the office when I used my voice-activation/Bluetooth to call home. I spoke, "Call Home." Scott's name and cellphone number appeared on my screen. "Call Home" sounds nothing like "Scott Patka." It brought me to tears. I hope you find some comfort in knowing that he touched many lives." What a testament, from a "total stranger" to us - that Scott IS home.
We will miss his abiding sense of humor. We will miss his willingness and ability to help. But, come the day when we must face that which proves to be truly insurmountable to any one of us, we know that "the doctor is in." In Scott's obituary, we wrote of him - "friend of many." His lifelong friend, Lisa, kindly corrected us: Scott Patka - friend of ALL. Scott Patka - son of mine. I will never be the same having been blessed to share my life with him. These days that come after him will never be the same.
Let us remember Scott in our prayers - or, perhaps, we should ask him to remember us in his? On the day when we shall meet again, Scott will surely say, "Hey! What took you so long?"
I close this memorial with the song, "Something To It," from Scott's favorite band - Great Big Sea. Scott introduced Rob to Newfoundland's own GBS. A concert of theirs was one of the last occasions the brothers shared. Rob said, "I hadn't (ever) heard them and dismissed it as Irish nonsense for years." Things change. Here's to Scott. Now he walks in peace.
