Another blow

My stepbrother, Scott Phipps was killed in a single-car wreck last night. I still can't believe it's real.

He had just turned 53 and he was full of life. He had a wonderful, silly sense of humor, and he was the one who always made everyone laugh with his dreadful puns.

During Mike's illness and after he died, Scott sent me beautiful, simple prayers via e-mail. He was eloquent.

He was deeply spiritual -- the last time I was at his house, he, his wife, Rosalie, and I sang old Baptist hymns in three-part harmony. His daughter is my namesake.

Scott was one of seven kids -- six boys and a girl -- that my stepmother brought to the marriage. My father brought four daughters and a son. The Christmas parties were pretty much pandamonium with all of us, our spouses and kids crammed into the house. My stepmother loved it, and so did I.

Then my stepbrother, Mark, died in an accident in 1980, and my father died 10 years later, and the parties kind of fell apart.

But we all kept in touch. I love them all, and I just don't know what to do with my emotions here.

I'm still in shock.