In memoriam: Innes Scally Lynch - The Golfer who never was
There are moments in life which leave lasting and indelible memories. Some which bring unrivalled joy, others which trigger sadness and emotional pain. There are those too, which generate both simultaneously.
Getting married to my soulmate. Overcoming battles with depression and anxiety. Getting (and remaining) sober. Childbirth. Getting your first hole in one (I have never achieved this, but allow me to indulge in some artistic licence just for a moment…)
Each and every one of these experiences (namely the factual ones, putting the fictional hole in one aside), have each taught me valuable life lessons. In all cases, I’ve found that it’s never about one specific defining moment, it’s about the journey along the way.
I have learned that, when life deals me a bad break and I find myself embedded in the rough, I must embrace those moments. After all, there’s never any growth inside our comfort zone.
When I eventually get out of the rough (after a few angry swings and several failed attempts) and back out into the fairway, I find it so important to cherish every moment and express gratitude on the way. Heaven knows, I’ll probably be back in the rough again quicker than I can shout “Fore!!!”, so might as well bask in the fairway’s glory while I’m there!
When my son, Innes, was born sleeping on Saturday 18 February 2023, I knew I was being catapulted along another one of life’s unpredictable journeys.
As an expectant father of my first child, one can imagine the sort of joy and pride I felt upon attending the 20 week mid-pregnancy scan, to be told “you’re having a baby boy”. With legs akimbo and showing off his Crown Jewels, I sat back with tears of pride forming in my eyes and thought about my son’s future prospects (in life generally, nothing to do with his genitalia I hasten to add).
I thought about who he’d grow up to be. Would he tell corny jokes like his Dad, with a particular penchant for word play? Would he support Aberdeen FC and join me in signing “Stand Free” from the terraces at Pittodrie? What hobbies would he have? I hope he grows up to like…nay, I hope he loves and obsesses about golf like I do.
As I was mapping out my son’s life for him whilst he was snoozing there in the womb, the universe was making other plans for Innes. In the subsequent days and weeks, leading up to that fateful day on 18 February 2023, my wife and I were dealt a crushing blow by our medical team.
“There’s something going on in your baby’s heart and it’s major”. Those were the words uttered to us by the Cardiologist, only days before Innes’ passing. Sat in one of those typically nondescript and soulless treatment rooms in our local hospital, we were given a prognosis for Innes which stripped me of all hope.
Were we told that, should we decide to continue with this pregnancy until term, our son’s chances of survival would be unclear until birth and severely complicated by the presence of three major congenital heart defects. According to the British Heart Foundation, if your baby has one or two of these defects, the outlook for survival is somewhat hopeful, though fraught with risk. If they have all three, it can be impossible to treat.
The decision to end a pregnancy is one which I can’t imagine any parent taking lightly, especially not in circumstances where you’re desperate to have this baby and for them to live a healthy and prosperous life.
I will spare the gory details, but suffice it to say that when you find yourself in a maternity ward and your son is delivered stillborn, the silence is deafening. At least, that’s what my good friend and future GYH podcast guest, Ben Seabrook, had warned me after he and his wife had experienced similar loss.
The silence would have indeed been deafening, were it not for the fact that my wife needed urgent medical attention to remove residual pieces of placenta, which had not yet passed when Innes was delivered. As multiple nurses circled on Kim and set to work on her, I watched on while holding Innes in my arms, grieving for him, yet staring at him longingly and lovingly. At the same time, I was beginning to feel increasingly panicked and worried that my wife might need to go into theatre to have surgery to remove the placenta. The thought of losing not only my son, but also my wife, became a real prospect all of a sudden.
Thankfully, Kim pulled through that ordeal without need for surgical intervention. Once the chaos of those fraught moments had passed, we could both finally spend time with Innes and make memories with him, in the quiet stillness and calm of our bereavement suite. Unlike so many other parents we’ve met or heard about, who especially during the pandemic were forced to deliver their stillborn children in much less dignified circumstances, the experience our local hospital provided us with was exemplary.
They helped to turn what had the potential to be one of the most harrowing experiences of our lives, into something beautiful and special. Our midwife read a bedtime story to Innes. The resident Chaplin came in to bless Innes’ life. We captured handprints and footprints in clay, and got to take home items of his clothing which will serve as priceless keepsakes and mementos for the rest of our lives.
That day, I decided that going forward, I’d dedicate myself to speaking and honoring Innes’ name. To pursue dreams, take opportunities whenever they come my way and live life to its fullest. In spite of Innes’ fate, I was determined for him to live vicariously through me.
I thought of those dreams of us playing golf together. I imagined what we’d say to each other while out in the golf course. I imagined him sharing his deepest feelings, thoughts and concerns with me. In return, I’d listen and try to offer counsel. Most importantly, I’d offer him love and understanding. I’d stop short of offering him swing advice, because if he truly took after me, he’d likely snap at me and tell me “Dad, I don’t need your help! I know what I’m doing!” (As my own father would testify, having tried and failed to give me golf lessons in the past!)
Within days of leaving the hospital, I headed out to my local golf course to find solace and time to reflect, to ponder what could have been. I remember lining up a putt on the 4th green, a long-ish one sloping downhill. I stood over the putt and thought of Innes, channeling his memory to will it into the hole. It dropped in.
As if I didn’t already know it, golf was helping me heal. Golf was (is) good for me, both then and now.
I should add, that I have since chosen never to will in a putt in Innes’ name ever again. I figured that if I did so and it missed the cup, I’d develop a resentment towards him. The last time I checked, practicing resentments towards the deceased is a seriously unhealthy practice.
A much healthier pursuit, I concluded, would be to create a platform which could not only honour and commemorate Innes’ life, but that would bring together the power of Golf and Wellbeing. A platform which can offer hope, inspiration and healing qualities to other Golfers. Golfers from all walks of life. Whether they are new to the game, yet to discover it, or longstanding golfing stalwarts.
On 18th February 2024, my wife and I will celebrate Innes’ 1st birthday.
On the same day, we’ll celebrate the formal launch and birth of Golf Yourself Healthy.
By reading this, you will not only be supporting my wife and I in commemorating our son’s life, but you will also be supporting the birth and evolution of the GYH community. A community which is yours, as much as it is mine.
Oh and before you go…remember to always Embrace the Rough and forever Cherish the Fairway.
Kris Lynch, 18 February 2024