Before you exist only in my memories

Making the most of the moments we have with the people we love.

A family photo of Ryan Scott, Patricia Byers and Rhonda Byers sits on top of a photo album of family memories // photo by Ryan Scott

Written by Ryan Scott

The last time I talked to my paternal grandmother, Grandma BJ, was Dec. 1, 2018.

I was walking to the bus stop to go to a concert in Seattle and it occurred to me that I had not spoken to her in a while. Though I am not close with most of my family on my dad’s side, she was the one person I tried to keep in contact with. On a whim, I called her and we talked for an hour while I was waiting for the bus.

Five months later, she died.

It was sudden. My dad wasn’t even able to get to Texas from the time she was admitted to the hospital to when she passed. When I heard that she was in the hospital, I thought about calling her but decided I would let her get settled in first.

I think back on that decision a lot.

Bobby Jean “BJ” Scott holds baby Ryan Scott in her arms in Kirkland, Wash. // photo Courtesy of Cindy Bienz

Her passing was a lesson to me about not waiting when it comes to those close to you. This inspired me to take a trip down to Phoenix to visit my maternal grandmother, Grandma Pat, and my aunt Rhonda in August 2021. Summer quarter was just a week away from finishing and COVID-19 cases nationwide were at a low point once again. I felt like if there was ever going to be a time to make the trip, it was as soon as I was out of school.

Deciding to make the trip was one thing but figuring out how I was going to get there was an entirely different one. I spent finals week coordinating with my mom and Rhonda about timing and how I was getting down to Phoenix. I didn’t have a specific plan for hotels or destinations and instead swapped cars with my mom, because she has a massive GMC Acadia that I could set up a mattress in to sleep on.

The morning of August 4, 2021, I loaded up the car with supplies and set out on the 1,600-mile journey to Phoenix.

As I set off from Kirkland, the thought of being so far separated from anyone I knew was very daunting. What if something went wrong and I was stranded in the middle of nowhere? I spent the next 120 hours by myself, only interacting with the occasional person at a rest stop or national park.

This time alone taught me a lot about myself and how to find enjoyment within myself rather than other people. As I ventured further south, I became more reassured that everything was going to be okay. I spent my days in the car watching the scenery slowly switch from city and forest to desert land.

I explored new cities and figured out where I would settle for the night. Eventually, I got tired of shuffling the same road trip playlist I had made and ended up listening to nothing but pre-2014 Pitbull for a day. Passing through Salt Lake City screaming out the lyrics to “Fireball” is a memory that I will hold onto for a long time.

As each evening approached, I would set up at whatever campsite I had decided on the previous morning. Whether at deep canyons on Bureau of Land Management lands, the top of plateaus outside Monument Valley or just a rest stop along the highway, I always tried to get to my destinations before sunset so I could sit back and enjoy the day slipping away.

After five days, I finally arrived in Phoenix. It was 6 p.m., and at my grandma’s house that meant it was almost dinner time. One thing about my grandma is she is meticulous about her routine: getting together with Rhonda at 7 p.m. every night for dinner. When Rhonda let me in and my grandma saw me, it seemed as though her brain shut down for a moment. We had managed to not let it slip that I would be in Phoenix, despite the many calls and texts Rhonda and I shared while I was driving down.

My grandma and Rhonda live together so Rhonda can help my grandma with work around the house or other tasks she wouldn’t be able to do on her own. Because of this, the update calls I would give my aunt to let her know I was doing okay had to be done late at night when Rhonda was out on the back patio. Even with all these secret calls, my grandma never suspected a thing.

After my grandma was finally able to reconcile that I was somehow in her house, she engulfed me in a hug and badgered me with questions about what I was doing there. She frog-marched me over to the couch to ask about my trip. “Have you eaten?” “What are you doing here?” “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” The questions flying from her lips brought a smile to my face. Even through all the badgering, I knew she was just happy to see me. The micromanaging was her way of showing she cares.

Ryan Scott, left, Patricia Byers, center, and Rhonda Byers, right, pose for a family photo outside of their home in Gilbert, AZ // photo by Ryan Scott

Even though I had not seen my grandma and aunt for three years, falling back into the familiar environment of their home was easy. There were little things I had forgotten about, like the way they bantered back and forth about the little things. These little behaviors washed over me like a familiar blanket the more time I spent with my family.

My grandma wished we had told her I would be down in Phoenix so she could have planned things better and Rhonda wouldn’t have been painting the walls.

I spent the next week at their house. We didn’t do anything particularly special while I was there, but just being able to do mundane tasks together was special in and of itself. I stayed up late on the back patio with Rhonda, talking about our lives and the other family news while she smoked. I made sure to show Grandma Pat and Rhonda all the pictures from both the trip down and the last few years; giving them commentary about the people and places they weren’t able to see with their own eyes.

In the quiet moments, I was struck by the feeling that their home had changed very little since I last saw it five years ago. The pictures of my cousins, sister, mom and I still hung from the walls. My grandma’s collection of antique spoons from every state was still in the exact same place. The TV constantly playing CNN still droned on in the background at all hours of the day. The house even smelled the same as in my memories… That unique blend of paper and old wood that seems to permeate the homes of old people nationwide.

Before I left home, it felt like so much had changed about me since the last time we saw each other at my high school graduation, but when I took a mental step back, I realized that the connections we shared were no weaker than they were three years ago.

I had grown into myself a lot in the three years we were apart. I started university, moved out on my own for the first time, and had really started to understand my own independence and where I want to be in the world. But, even through all the changes I felt I had gone through, underneath I was still the Ryan they have always known.

We slipped back into a familiar rapport within hours of me getting to Phoenix, and that familiarity never went away while I was there. It felt like we picked up right where we left off rather than trying to make up for lost ground.

As our week together came to a close, we exchanged a tearful goodbye in the driveway, but I knew we would talk again soon. We would still share late-night phone calls talking about how life is going, Zoom calls on Christmas to open presents together and possibly another surprise visit to each other when the inclination arises.

Seeing the people you love in person is always going to provide a stronger connection, but that is not always feasible. I know as long as we stay in contact, the connections we share with family and friends will never truly disappear.