Obituary
Writing an obituary for my father feels unnatural. So much of the grieving I have done has been personal, in quiet, except during welcome moments with loved ones. Turning outward, I do my best here to share a brief history of my father, better known to all of you as Scott, or Dr. Smelser. While he meant something unique to each one of us, there are pillars of his character that all in his orbit were better for and deserve recognition.
Scott Randall Smelser died on August 20, 2020, at the age of 56 years. He passed in a hospital bed in Kentfield, California, surrounded and held by his immediate family members: his mother and father (Joan Phyllis Smelser and Lee Frank Smelser), his two brothers (Ronald Lee Smelser and Steven Douglas Smelser), his three daughters (Annalise Janelle Smelser, Kristina Tamiko Smelser, me-Sabrina Renae Smelser), and his wife of 25 years, Julie Nakao Smelser. Scott leaves behind beloved nieces, nephews, aunts, uncles, cousins, in-laws, and dear friends who were all there with him in spirit. We sang to him, read him letters from friends and family, and sat with him in heavy, tender silence. I have never felt love like that which filled the room the morning of his death.
Scott was born in Glendale, California, on May 30, 1964. He spent much of his childhood fishing in the Sierras with family, playing and watching basketball, and studying diligently. Dad wanted to be a doctor from a young age; this desire never faded. He attended Hart High School and UC Irvine for undergrad. In 1990, he graduated from UCSD medical school and, after a year of internship in internal medicine at Cedars Sinai, moved to San Francisco to attend anesthesia residency at UCSF. He met my mom on their first day of their first year of training, July 1, 1991. After completing residency in June of 1994, Scott and Julie were married in Pasadena, California, on December 3, 1994. In January of 1995, they moved to San Luis Obispo, California, to begin their careers and family. Both Scott and Julie began work at French Hospital and later expanded their services to many other area hospitals as founding members of the newly formed Coastal Anesthesia Medical Associates (CAMA). Scott practiced with CAMA for the remainder of his career. He quickly became a leader within the group and hospitals and, most distinctively, a champion of kindness, humility, and humor towards every coworker and patient. He is best known for his consistent calm and composure in moments of stress, combined with an endless output of storytelling and laid-back, good-natured spirit.
Dad’s home life, the space he took most joy in, revolved around raising his three kids. I was born in 1996, Kristina in 1998, and Annalise in 2001. Truly, my dad loved his work in anesthesia. (It seemed to me that few things brought him more satisfaction than an arm with ‘good’ veins.) His “favorite job of [his] life,” however, as he told me on Father’s Day 2017, was being a dad. One might wonder if he was only appealing to his audience at the time, but every word, gesture, and sacrifice he made as a father was consistent with his statement: he attended every landmark event, big or small, in his daughters’ lives as often as he could. He was the loudest fan in the soccer, basketball, and gymnastics stands, the steadiest hand behind our family video camera, and the ever present voice of reason, love, and reassurance in his phone-calls, letters, and dinner table conversations.
Scott found fulfillment in bike riding both on the road and in the mountains, working in his garden, staying politically informed, reading, constantly learning outside and within his domain of professional expertise, passionately watching professional sports, listening to ‘70s rock and hip hop, and spending evenings with friends and family. His endless humility, patience, generosity with his time, and commitment to listening well made him an ideal friend and partner and family member. You wanted him around. You missed him when he wasn’t. He felt deeply, empathized consistently, and brought laughter with him everywhere he went. He was not afraid to cry during times of pride, heartache, hilarity, and joy.
Dad loved Simon and Garfunkel; his favorite track (and song) of theirs was Bridge Over Troubled Water. I can think of nothing more analogous to his character, to what he meant to those he knew. He is loved and treasured as a guiding and supportive force in our lives. He will always be.
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