I am Karen Scott's daughter.

 I dropped KGO off at the library to pick up a book.  We were on our way to the YMCA for swimming so I waited in the car.  Too soon, I saw her come out the library door and from the look on her face I knew something was up.  She said, "come in, I want to show you something".  I knew what it was.  What else could it be?  It had been quite some time since I dropped off the check for $350 with a list of baseball books and instructions to buy them in memory of Dad.  I was excited that the books were here and yet feeling emotional about seeing them.  I came inside the library and on a table in the entrance hallway was a display of books and baseballs.

There were quite a few empty spots on the table which meant that people were already reading Dad's books.  I know he would be pleased and happy to know that other people were able to share his passion for baseball and books.  Inside each cover was this label.

A few days later I received this letter with a list of the books that were bought with this memorial donation.  Thanks again to all his friends and relatives who gave us money and allowed us to do this. 

It is baseball season again and so time moves forward, seasons pass, life goes on.  I watch the games, I try to learn about all the new players and to remember the old ones.  Questions come up and where once I would have just asked dad, now I need to google the answers.  I wonder if he is playing baseball again where ever he is.  Is he young and strong with a heart that is undamaged and allows him to run the bases?  Is he playing with his old friends and getting to know all the old ball players?  Is mom sitting in the bleachers in her rolled up jeans, bobbie socks and saddle shoes talking to the other wives and girlfriends, cheering on their boys of summer?  It comforts me to think of them that way. 

I just finished making Dad's room back into our guest room and making it available for out of town guests.  I have a new queen sized bed, new mattress, new TV stand, curtains, bedding lighting and pillows, a ceiling fan,  We kept Dad's chair and bookcase and there is still some of his stuff in the closet.  It is hard to go through things and decide what to keep and what needs to go.  There is not much left but I can't find the need to finish.  There is no rush.  I put a picture of dad on the shelf where you can't help but see it if you sit in his chair.  He is smiling and happy and it makes me smile and makes me happy when I see it.  I think about him often.  I find myself thinking about the way he lived and the way he died and the example he set.  Sometimes I think of things that I wish I had asked him or talked to him about.  Mostly, I am content.