Scott was a poet and a successful owner of small businesses. He was a tinkerer and a lover of cars and a great swimmer in his youth. But more than anything, Scott was a loving husband and an enthusiastic father.
His life took its shape from the everlasting love he shared with Mary and the family they created together. They met in high school, both graduates of Taylor High in 1990. Eager to begin a life together, they married just months after graduation and had their first daughter, Morgan, the following summer.
Scott and Mary built a successful landscaping company as they also grew their family. Jacki followed Morgan, and Michelle followed Jacki. The jokes began about trying for a boy, but Scott never wavered. He wanted five girls, he said, so he could field a basketball team. It wasn't just one of his great lines, it was prophecy. His family was complete when Shannon and Robyn arrived.
To family and friends, Scott marveled at how unique and wonderful each of his girls was. He celebrated their talents and accomplishments and told their stories. Scott could tell a story.
It was not unusual for gravity to shift in his direction when he filled up a room with stories that, told by anyone else, would not be as funny or heartfelt or incredible or endearing.
Part of what made Scott such a great storyteller is that he had an eye for the potential in everyone and everything. From his earliest days, he would see something broken and tinker with it until he found a way to give it new life. He did this with TV sets and other appliances discarded by neighbors. He installed ceiling fans from the time he was 10 years old. He loved to see how things worked and figure out how they could work better. Whether it was a barren back yard or a classic car that hadn't been started in years, Scott was always envisioning how things could be more beautiful, more functional, more alive if he just rolled up his sleeves and got to work.
He was a lover of life. He arrived with one birth pain, he was so eager to come into this world. And he defied every doctor's expectations by living longer than anyone thought he could after he became ill in 2009.
As a lover of life, he was also a lover of mischief and good times. Was it possible to get a 22-foot long 1976 Oldsmobile airborne on the road over the nearby levy? What about at night with no headlights on?
As he got older and wiser, the good times took the form of late nights at his lake house, spur-of-the-moment trips to Disney World and an endless series of campfires and campfire-like discussions about anything and everything. The man loved to talk.
He was so strong and full of life that when he became ill, he wasn't sure how to define himself anymore. He didn't seem like the same guy who held swimming records at the neighborhood pool for years. He didn't seem like the same guy who could mow 30 yards in a single day with his crew. Or shoot baskets for hours and hours on end.
But his strength, it became clear, never really left him. It just took a different form. He was Scott Strong through years of suffering that would have crushed weaker men. His strength showed in his love and appreciation for the caregivers around him. He would learn their names and their stories and thank them again and again and again.
He was endlessly grateful to the hundreds of people who supported him and his family through his illness. As he grew weaker, their love made his spirit stronger.
His spirit, indeed, was so strong, it will remain with Mary and the girls -- and all of those who loved him -- for their rest of their lives.
His life took its shape from the everlasting love he shared with Mary and the family they created together. They met in high school, both graduates of Taylor High in 1990. Eager to begin a life together, they married just months after graduation and had their first daughter, Morgan, the following summer.
Scott and Mary built a successful landscaping company as they also grew their family. Jacki followed Morgan, and Michelle followed Jacki. The jokes began about trying for a boy, but Scott never wavered. He wanted five girls, he said, so he could field a basketball team. It wasn't just one of his great lines, it was prophecy. His family was complete when Shannon and Robyn arrived.
To family and friends, Scott marveled at how unique and wonderful each of his girls was. He celebrated their talents and accomplishments and told their stories. Scott could tell a story.
It was not unusual for gravity to shift in his direction when he filled up a room with stories that, told by anyone else, would not be as funny or heartfelt or incredible or endearing.
Part of what made Scott such a great storyteller is that he had an eye for the potential in everyone and everything. From his earliest days, he would see something broken and tinker with it until he found a way to give it new life. He did this with TV sets and other appliances discarded by neighbors. He installed ceiling fans from the time he was 10 years old. He loved to see how things worked and figure out how they could work better. Whether it was a barren back yard or a classic car that hadn't been started in years, Scott was always envisioning how things could be more beautiful, more functional, more alive if he just rolled up his sleeves and got to work.
He was a lover of life. He arrived with one birth pain, he was so eager to come into this world. And he defied every doctor's expectations by living longer than anyone thought he could after he became ill in 2009.
As a lover of life, he was also a lover of mischief and good times. Was it possible to get a 22-foot long 1976 Oldsmobile airborne on the road over the nearby levy? What about at night with no headlights on?
As he got older and wiser, the good times took the form of late nights at his lake house, spur-of-the-moment trips to Disney World and an endless series of campfires and campfire-like discussions about anything and everything. The man loved to talk.
He was so strong and full of life that when he became ill, he wasn't sure how to define himself anymore. He didn't seem like the same guy who held swimming records at the neighborhood pool for years. He didn't seem like the same guy who could mow 30 yards in a single day with his crew. Or shoot baskets for hours and hours on end.
But his strength, it became clear, never really left him. It just took a different form. He was Scott Strong through years of suffering that would have crushed weaker men. His strength showed in his love and appreciation for the caregivers around him. He would learn their names and their stories and thank them again and again and again.
He was endlessly grateful to the hundreds of people who supported him and his family through his illness. As he grew weaker, their love made his spirit stronger.
His spirit, indeed, was so strong, it will remain with Mary and the girls -- and all of those who loved him -- for their rest of their lives.
Scott was a poet and a successful owner of small businesses. He was a tinkerer and a lover of cars and a great swimmer in his youth. But more than anything, Scott was a loving husband and an enthusiastic father.
His life took its shape from the everlasting love he shared with Mary and the family they created together. They met in high school, both graduates of Taylor High in 1990. Eager to begin a life together, they married just months after graduation and had their first daughter, Morgan, the following summer.
Scott and Mary built a successful landscaping company as they also grew their family. Jacki followed Morgan, and Michelle followed Jacki. The jokes began about trying for a boy, but Scott never wavered. He wanted five girls, he said, so he could field a basketball team. It wasn't just one of his great lines, it was prophecy. His family was complete when Shannon and Robyn arrived.
To family and friends, Scott marveled at how unique and wonderful each of his girls was. He celebrated their talents and accomplishments and told their stories. Scott could tell a story.
It was not unusual for gravity to shift in his direction when he filled up a room with stories that, told by anyone else, would not be as funny or heartfelt or incredible or endearing.
Part of what made Scott such a great storyteller is that he had an eye for the potential in everyone and everything. From his earliest days, he would see something broken and tinker with it until he found a way to give it new life. He did this with TV sets and other appliances discarded by neighbors. He installed ceiling fans from the time he was 10 years old. He loved to see how things worked and figure out how they could work better. Whether it was a barren back yard or a classic car that hadn't been started in years, Scott was always envisioning how things could be more beautiful, more functional, more alive if he just rolled up his sleeves and got to work.
He was a lover of life. He arrived with one birth pain, he was so eager to come into this world. And he defied every doctor's expectations by living longer than anyone thought he could after he became ill in 2009.
As a lover of life, he was also a lover of mischief and good times. Was it possible to get a 22-foot long 1976 Oldsmobile airborne on the road over the nearby levy? What about at night with no headlights on?
As he got older and wiser, the good times took the form of late nights at his lake house, spur-of-the-moment trips to Disney World and an endless series of campfires and campfire-like discussions about anything and everything. The man loved to talk.
He was so strong and full of life that when he became ill, he wasn't sure how to define himself anymore. He didn't seem like the same guy who held swimming records at the neighborhood pool for years. He didn't seem like the same guy who could mow 30 yards in a single day with his crew. Or shoot baskets for hours and hours on end.
But his strength, it became clear, never really left him. It just took a different form. He was Scott Strong through years of suffering that would have crushed weaker men. His strength showed in his love and appreciation for the caregivers around him. He would learn their names and their stories and thank them again and again and again.
He was endlessly grateful to the hundreds of people who supported him and his family through his illness. As he grew weaker, their love made his spirit stronger.
His spirit, indeed, was so strong, it will remain with Mary and the girls -- and all of those who loved him -- for their rest of their lives.
His life took its shape from the everlasting love he shared with Mary and the family they created together. They met in high school, both graduates of Taylor High in 1990. Eager to begin a life together, they married just months after graduation and had their first daughter, Morgan, the following summer.
Scott and Mary built a successful landscaping company as they also grew their family. Jacki followed Morgan, and Michelle followed Jacki. The jokes began about trying for a boy, but Scott never wavered. He wanted five girls, he said, so he could field a basketball team. It wasn't just one of his great lines, it was prophecy. His family was complete when Shannon and Robyn arrived.
To family and friends, Scott marveled at how unique and wonderful each of his girls was. He celebrated their talents and accomplishments and told their stories. Scott could tell a story.
It was not unusual for gravity to shift in his direction when he filled up a room with stories that, told by anyone else, would not be as funny or heartfelt or incredible or endearing.
Part of what made Scott such a great storyteller is that he had an eye for the potential in everyone and everything. From his earliest days, he would see something broken and tinker with it until he found a way to give it new life. He did this with TV sets and other appliances discarded by neighbors. He installed ceiling fans from the time he was 10 years old. He loved to see how things worked and figure out how they could work better. Whether it was a barren back yard or a classic car that hadn't been started in years, Scott was always envisioning how things could be more beautiful, more functional, more alive if he just rolled up his sleeves and got to work.
He was a lover of life. He arrived with one birth pain, he was so eager to come into this world. And he defied every doctor's expectations by living longer than anyone thought he could after he became ill in 2009.
As a lover of life, he was also a lover of mischief and good times. Was it possible to get a 22-foot long 1976 Oldsmobile airborne on the road over the nearby levy? What about at night with no headlights on?
As he got older and wiser, the good times took the form of late nights at his lake house, spur-of-the-moment trips to Disney World and an endless series of campfires and campfire-like discussions about anything and everything. The man loved to talk.
He was so strong and full of life that when he became ill, he wasn't sure how to define himself anymore. He didn't seem like the same guy who held swimming records at the neighborhood pool for years. He didn't seem like the same guy who could mow 30 yards in a single day with his crew. Or shoot baskets for hours and hours on end.
But his strength, it became clear, never really left him. It just took a different form. He was Scott Strong through years of suffering that would have crushed weaker men. His strength showed in his love and appreciation for the caregivers around him. He would learn their names and their stories and thank them again and again and again.
He was endlessly grateful to the hundreds of people who supported him and his family through his illness. As he grew weaker, their love made his spirit stronger.
His spirit, indeed, was so strong, it will remain with Mary and the girls -- and all of those who loved him -- for their rest of their lives.
Family Members
Parents
Sponsored by Ancestry
Advertisement
Advertisement
