Good Grief, God, & Remembering my Father
It’s been 4 years this month since my Dad died. It might be odd to say, but some days it feels as if this is how it’s always been, him not being here. Other days, it feels like he’s only been gone for a few months. Most times, it still doesn’t make sense to me why he had to go. There’s so many times I catch myself saying “he would’ve loved this” or “you and my dad would’ve gotten along so well.” I have been planning to write about this for months. I had planned to release this on May 13, 4 years to the day he passed. That clearly didn’t happen and that itself is something I want to unpack. I warn you, this is a long blog. But I also encourage you, read it, it would mean a lot to me and I hope something in here helps you. There’s 3 things I wrote not long after he passed that I said I would expand on…
Grief is strange.
Life is a gift.
Family is so important.
I’m finally ready to expand on these 3 things. Let’s begin!
My father died at 70. I’ve had many people tell me 70 is a young age to pass away at. Part of me appreciates that, because it gives me hope that maybe I’ll live longer than 70. The other part of me doesn’t like when people have said that because it doesn’t change anything. He’s still gone and nothing will change that. I don’t think it’s worth saying that to anyone who has said to me “70 is young!” because I know that they mean well, but having four years to reflect on how many times that has been said to me, I’d rather be honest and say whether you think that 70 is too young or not, it doesn’t change how much I miss my dad. It doesn’t change that he still isn’t here. What it could change, is how I or maybe those of you reading this live our lives to try and get past 70.
I think 70 is an impressive milestone! There’s musicians that still have thriving careers at 70. There’s pastors that have preached far past 70. Unfortunately, there are politicians who probably should’ve retired before 70. (Who’s triggered?! Ok look, I had to attempt some comic relief in a depressing blog, also regardless of what “side” you’re on, we can all be honest and say my statement is true.) 70 is a great milestone to live to. It would be great (in some ways) to live far past 70, maybe 90, maybe even 100. I am thankful my dad was able to be on this earth for 70 years, and have me around for 31 of them. I recognize some parents die when their kids are young, and I’m not saying losing a parent at 3, 13, or 31 is better or worse, but they all have different effects. Losing a parent is never easy.
In early 2022, my dad started slowing down and checking out. My mom and I started telling him at the end of January that he should go to the doctor because we knew something was up. He wouldn’t go. By mid March, he had stopped going to church, stopped working, and just stayed home and was miserable. He was not pleasant to be around because he was either antisocial, or just complained that he didn’t feel good. We were supposed to go to a Red Wings game for my birthday that year. He bought tickets months before the game and spent a lot of money on them because he hated heights, so anytime he went to a game with me and he bought the tickets, we always got to sit in the lower bowl. The game was two days after my birthday, and he had told me a few days before that he wouldn’t be going, and I should find somebody else. Normally, I would’ve appreciated the honesty and having a few days to find someone else to go to the game with. But I remember being hurt and angry that he wasn’t going, because I could see that he wasn’t doing anything to help his situation. It had been three months of him not feeling good and declining, and he still wouldn’t go see the doctor. Now it was starting to interfere with my life. I recognize how selfish that sounds. I can admit that, but it’s still how I felt. If you know me, you know that I make a big deal about my birthday. There’s probably a deep psychological reason behind it, which probably results in a major personality flaw, but I will just say that I tend to do what I want on my birthday and I don’t let people get in my way. I was looking forward to going to the game with my dad, not just because we had great seats, but because we hadn’t done anything just the two of us in a while, and we had only been to a few games together. So this one hurt.
A couple weeks went by and he was getting worse. He was moving slower and you could tell he was in pain. On April 15, which was Good Friday, my mom took him to the hospital. There was a sense of relief, but there was a greater sense of the unknown. Easter morning was so strange without him being there. I had only spent one Easter away from my family at that point in my life, because I was living out of state. Being at home in Michigan for Easter and not having my dad there felt so wrong. We made the best of it because my mom is strong and she is a champion. The next couple weeks felt long. Dad was in the hospital and we found out that he could have cancer. The next few days felt even longer. And then, we got the news…
He had pancreatic cancer that had spread throughout multiple parts of his body. They said he had 3 to 6 months to live, but he only lived two more weeks. Those were without a doubt the longest two weeks of my life. It’s a strange, stressful, and all around weird thing to wake up every day not knowing if someone in your house is still alive or if they died during the night. When someone is dying, and they don’t turn on their hearing aid for an entire day, it makes you think they’ve already made the decision that they’re done talking to you. My dad wasn’t perfect, and as much as I want to say it was his choice his last few days to talk or not, it did hurt my mom the day he didn’t turn his hearing aid on and at least acknowledge he could hear us. I remember my mom waking me up early in the morning on Friday, May 13 2022 to tell me he wouldn’t be alive much longer. He was unresponsive, but oddly looked at peace. We called my brothers so they could be here when he passed. He breathed his last later that morning.
Grief is strange. It comes in waves, and it comes at the most unpredictable times. I went weeks feeling all right, and then a line in a song would absolutely wreck me and I would break down in tears. I thought watching one of my favorite shows would help me feel better, especially because it was a show that I had already watched so I knew what was going to happen. And then I got to the last episode where the dad says goodbye to his kids by saying “I’m so proud of you.” And then the flood in my eyes came because it made me think of when my dad used to tell me all the time that he was proud of me. I have no shame in saying that was one of the times I cried the most. I also have no shame in saying that I’m glad it was just me alone in my room. Grief is strange, but grief is also good. I don’t mean it in the way that a lot of people say “good grief!” because to be honest, I’ve never heard anyone say that phrase when talking about something good or talking about grief. In four years, I have learned that there is something good about grief. Grief will help you grow if you’re willing. Grief will help you search in the deepest and darkest parts of your feelings and help you to understand them and act on them in a healthy way. Grief will give you a bond with strangers, especially musicians who write songs about it, and you won’t get that instant connection with other people you meet. Grief can challenge your faith in a good way if you’re willing to talk, reflect, and pray. Good grief does exist, and even though it’s not always easy, it’s good. As one of my favorite songwriters says, “Grief is only love that’s got no place to go.” (Thank you Stephen Wilson Jr.!) Hearing this song live back in March made this truth sink in even more. You never stop loving those you lose. But they don’t feel your love after they’re gone (depending on what you believe), so all you have is the love and memories attached to it. As hard as this may be, this is good grief.
Life is a gift from God, who is the creator of life. I believe we are created to do good, but so often we don’t. So often I don’t. So often my dad didn’t. My dad made mistakes, but one thing I am so thankful for is he showed me how much of a gift life is. My dad loved people. I knew this, but I realized it on a much deeper level by how many showed up for his funeral. The people he loved loved him. By all means, he could be selfish and stubborn sometimes, but even looking back at some of those moments are somewhat comical now. Making a big deal over nothing, insisting he was right or knew something, or just being overly sarcastic, he loved and was loved. I have far more good times with my dad than bad times. I know that is not the experience everyone has. I know I am blessed to be able to say that. I know he wanted to see me succeed and love the people around me. I am doing my best to do that, and I hope he is looking down saying “I’m proud of you son, keep going!” He knew this life was a gift. There are still times I look back in anger and ask “Why didn’t you go to the doctor sooner? What if you could’ve gotten treatment and you’d still be here?” In a way I can’t help but think, had things been different and treatment was an option, he would still be here loving life. I think he knew it was his time and I have to live with that. The best thing I can do is remember the gift this life is, do my best to do good, to love people, and stay strong until the very end. I hope you can do the same.
Family is so important, and every time I lose a family member I am reminded of this. I’m thankful I grew up with both my parents. I realize this is not everyone’s experience and I wish that it was. I’m thankful I had 31 years with my dad. I’m thankful I’m still getting time with my mom. My brothers both have families of their own and I am thankful that I am getting to be a part of their kid’s lives. I LOVE being an uncle! (My one nephew says I’m “entertaining” and even if part of him means that “unc” I’m not mad!) I’m thankful my brothers and I take a trip every year to have some “bro time.” I’m thankful my mom and I have a great relationship and spend time together eating meals and going up north. I’m thankful that overall, I have a good relationship with most of my family members. There are some I don’t get to see often, but there’s no bad blood between us. Family is so important. The older I get, and the more I try to figure out this wild rollercoaster called life, I’m thankful I have my family. We have our issues as every family does, but I know they love me and I do my best to love them. Even if the only time one of them tells me that is when they’re drunk. (It’s actually a funny story, but I won’t share it here. SUSPENSE!) When my last days come, I want to look back and remember all the happy times with my family. I want to remember the love, the fun, the growth, and the things we went through that brought us closer. I still believe that one day, sooner than later, I will have my own family, and I’ll teach my kids the lessons I’ve learned, and love my wife deeply and whole heartedly. Family is so important. Do your best to love them through it all.
Remembering my father is sometimes easy and celebratory. I think about all the fun times and good things. But sometimes it’s difficult and emotional. A week before he died, I visited him in the hospital. I had a friend who had lost a parent a few years ago tell me to have difficult conversations with my dad if there was anything bothering me, but make sure it’s something you truly need to say. I had thought of quite a few things that had bothered me, some that I had been keeping in for years. I made a plan, tried to get my head straight so it would be as good a conversation as possible, and went to the hospital to talk to him. I made sure it was just him and I in the room, that way neither of us would be holding back. I was going to tell him all his mistakes that bothered me, and when I opened my mouth, most of those feelings of disappointment and being upset floated away, and I simply said, “I love you. Thanks for being my dad.” I gave him a small gift I made, and he started tearing up and said “I love you, you’ve been such an awesome son.” We hugged and cried, and that was the last conversation we had.
I have grown in some ways since his passing, but I have also had many times of sadness. I miss him so much. There’s so much he has missed because he isn’t here. A career change, some great shows I’ve played, a few shows I would’ve taken him to, my niece and nephews growing up and doing all the cool things like sports, band concerts, and developing their fun personalities. I don’t regret our last conversation, but I want to point out that I said “most of those feelings of disappointment and being upset floated away” because that is the truth. I realized bringing these things up wasn’t going to fix anything because he was dying. Those things that didn’t float away were without a doubt some of the hardest mental and emotional challenges I’ve had to sort out. There were days that were dark and angry, and I’d go from missing him to wanting to yell at him. But, as dark and heavy and difficult as it was to go to the depths of those feelings and be at war with them, I got through. There was a shore across the sea of despair. They were not all easy lessons, but they are lessons I am trying my best to live better having learned them.
As I mentioned in the beginning of this blog, I have been planning to write this blog for a long time, and I missed my goal of releasing this on May 13. The reason is simple. I had much to say, many emotions to pour out, and it was a terrible idea to rush it. You can’t rush through grief and remembering those you love. You’ve got to give it time and sort it all out and be honest with yourself. I’m relieved and exhausted from this, but I sincerely hope it helps at least one person.
The last thing I want to mention is the dreams. For about a year after my dad passed, I would occasionally have dreams where he was still alive. The one that felt the most real was in December of 2022 (his birthday is 12/21). In the dream, I came downstairs and he was in his chair, being his normal goofy self. I ran over and hugged him and started crying and then he started fading. I cried louder and said “don’t go! Why do you have to go?!” and every time he said “I have to.” Then I woke up. I don’t have the words to truly describe HOW REAL IT FELT. I had a few more of these dreams and every time it was a scene from my memories. We would be laughing or going somewhere we used to go and have a great time until he had to go. I want to write another 5 pages on what I learned these dreams meant. I want to write a novel about interpreting dreams of those that have gone before us. I want to make these experiences a movie so others can feel what I felt. But none of that is going to happen. This is simply what I learned the dreams meant…
Grief is good and helps you learn. God is real and gives us a life to live, so live it well and love well. Remember those you love and love them as much as you can while they are here. As one of my favorite bands, Beloved says in their song “Watching the Lines Blur”...
“If we live in hearts we leave behind, then we will never die.”
Here’s what’s coming next with the Mi Landing Blog!
2 Decades Under Much Inspiration (June)
What If the What Ifs Were True? (July)
Good Idea! Too Bad You Won’t Do it (August)
Not Plain White Band T’s (September)
19 Years of “I Don’t Drink” and How I’m Still Messed Up (October)
That One Time I Missed Thanksgiving (November)
Another One Down (December)
Stay tuned. Through the ups and downs we go!
-Paul