“I thought he’d live forever. He seemed so big and strong. But the minutes fly and the years roll by for a father and his son. I never will forget him, for he made me what I am. Though he may be gone, memory lingers on. And I miss him, my Old Man.”
From the song “The Old Man”, Lyrics by Phil Coulter (1982)
Our Calendar is Marked by Days of Grief
They say that memory writes on every page of our calendar, particularly when we are grieving the loss of a loved one. Some days in our calendar are more difficult than others like the anniversary of their passing, a birthday, a wedding date, major holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas, and especially the deep emotions and feelings that surround Mother’s Day every May and of course Father’s Day which this year will be celebrated on June 18th . Whether you are in the first year in your journey of grief or are several years removed from your loved one’s passing, each of these days on our calendar of grief can be particularly challenging to navigate. While Father’s Day is a happy occasion for many dads and their families, the lead up to this day can be triggering for so many people who have lost their father, for fathers who may have lost a child, for men who were unable to have children, and for many men and women who either currently have or have had a strained and complicated relationship with their father. The constant barrage of advertisements, commercials, and social media postings of happy Dads posing with their children can be especially painful for many to witness.
May 12, 2011 – My Journey of Grieving Dad Begins
My own journey of grieving the loss of my dad began with his passing on May 12, 2011. That day started with a morning appointment in Princeton for an MRI of my right hip which had been in severe pain and was ultimately replaced the following year. I picked up my nephew Andrew at the University and we drove up to Valley Hospital in a steady rainfall where Dad was surrounded by my mom, siblings, and many of his grandchildren. What I most treasure about that day is that we were able to be there with him in those final moments of this life and each of us had the opportunity to tell him one more time how much we loved him. As he took his final breaths, a rainbow appeared through the window of Dad’s room as if to welcome him into the eternal life with the God he always believed in.
We had done extensive end of life planning for both my Dad and Mom several years earlier, everything from the obituary notice, setting the day and time for the wake service, the Scripture readings for the Funeral Mass, the Cantor and music selections, the bagpiper to lead us out of the church to Dad’s final resting place at the cemetery, the Marines who came to express their sincere gratitude for my dad’s service during WW II, and the repast we had organized at The Hohokus Inn, Dad’s favorite restaurant. As so often happens with family members in grief, I became so absorbed with making sure everything went as planned that I never allowed myself the time to tap into what I was really feeling as I kept going over and perfecting the eulogy I had prepared for Dad. I had to be strong for my mom, my siblings, and my own family who adored my dad as all of us did. I had a job to do and that was to make sure my Father would receive the hero’s welcome in heaven he richly deserved after a fully lived life of 85 years. After all, dad was a decorated WW II hero, the only survivor of his platoon in the historic Battle of Iwo Jima, a husband of 63 years to our mom, a father to five children, a grandfather to eleven, and a great-grandfather to two more. He was the dad who often toiled the midnight shift in those early days of fatherhood raising 5 children so my Mom and my siblings could live in a house and in an environment that would offer each of us far greater opportunities than he ever had. Dad taught us the manners that come with being a Marine like “yes sir, yes ma’am, no sir, no ma’am”. A dad who in his quiet manner told us that we should always do the right thing even when no one is watching. And for many patrons of the Ridgewood Print Shop, Dad was that friendly face that greeted you when you had an important project or document that needed the services of a real professional.
In the weeks following Dad’s funeral, I was preoccupied with helping my mom grieve her loss and acclimate to a new life as a widow now living in a one-bedroom apartment all alone. Soon, I faced my first experience of a Father’s Day without the presence of my dad. All those years of being with him on this special day — all the phone calls, the visits, the barbecues in the backyard, the family celebrations – it was just too painful to allow myself to feel anything so I coped by staying busy to avoid going down that path of exploring the depth of what I was feeling.
The First Breakthrough Moment in Grief: Letting My Tears Flow
My first breakthrough moment came later that September when I visited my mom. Earlier that day, I remember as I walked into the living room of her apartment, I found myself staring at the chair that my dad always used to sit in and now that chair was empty. I felt the tears coming but I still wasn’t ready to let them flow freely so I fought hard to hold them back as I knew that if I cried mom would soon join me. On the way home that night I listened to one of my favorite playlists and one of Dad’s favorite songs started to play – “All of Me” — by Willie Nelson. My dad would play that song frequently for my mom and would always hum the lyrics in our presence with his great smile. Unlike earlier that day when I looked at his favorite chair, I knew I had to let these tears finally come as they had waited long enough. So, I pulled my car over to the shoulder on Exit 120 of the Garden State Parkway and for the next 30 minutes, I finally let my feelings come out. I immediately felt some relief.
As the first year of grieving the loss of my dad ended, I found myself becoming more comfortable tapping into the deep feelings I had for my dad, most of which centered on the pure joy and gratitude for what my dad had given me. I began to journal every time I had a memory and would write it down.
All those special times with Dad and my late older brother Dennis growing up; a Dad who went to almost every game I ever played in growing up, always the quiet one in the stands but the one who always gave positive feedback and encouragement even when a ground ball went through my legs and we lost a Little League Championship; or those times in high school where my jump shot just wasn’t on the mark; the Dad who would come to all of my graduations and the many trips we took together driving my younger brother and sister to college; all the Mets games at Shea Stadium; all of the visits he would make over the years to each of the homes Jean and I lived in as our family grew; memories of Dad holding each of my three children as they entered this world and the positive memories he created for each of them; a Dad who as my professional career began to accelerate, would pick me up at the HoHokus train station for those late nights working in NYC and our pizza runs to Nellie’s Place; the countless phone calls to dad when I was on the road traveling, especially when I was far from home in Japan or Europe; the Dad who taught me how to cut the lawn, how to cook, and how to nurture those tomato plants that we always grew in our backyard; and most of all, the Dad who never, ever judged me, but only loved me and always gave me the time and the space to find my own identity, my own calling in life.
My journal kept growing with so many of these great memories. As I headed into my second Father’s Day without my dad in June 2012, I came across the last birthday card I had sent him for his 85th birthday in September 2010. As I read what I had written, the tears were now filled with gratitude as I finally realized that my dad really knew how much his second son loved him and looked up to him. That realization was huge as was a special moment with my daughter Katie when she asked me how I was doing, and I said, “Well Katie, pretty good, I just wish I could have one more hug with my Dad”. Without missing a beat, Katie then said what I think any one of us who has lost a loved one can relate to “Dad, you and I both know that one hug will never be enough”. As I moved through the ensuing calendar years of my grief for Dad, I felt increasingly confident that I was in a good place as I had begun to integrate the pain we will always feel for the person we have lost with the love and memories we have for our loved one. To further heal, I put together a picture book of my mom and Dad’s life, a book that I look at frequently and like to share with members of our parish Bereavement Ministry at St. Catharine-St. Margaret in Spring Lake, NJ with each photo helping rekindle some wonderful memories of what it was like being with my dad. It’s a powerful way for us to heal.
Grief Is Not a Linear Process
I often say during our bereavement sessions that the 6 stages of grief – denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance, and meaning — aren’t linear. Any one stage you thought you may have made it through through can resurface at any time, something I experienced several times during my 34-day Camino Pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela in September 2021. It was during that life changing experience for me where two painful regrets I had experienced with my dad re-emerged – one from a moment in high school where I was worried about his drinking and another one during the last weekend of his life where because of his discomfort, he was being difficult with my mom (See video clip).
Through that Camino experience of letting go of my regrets as well as the gift of mother time, I have learned to fully integrate more love for my dad than any lingering pain his loss may still occasionally conjure up. The triggers which were initially tear inducing — the smell of burning charcoal, bacon, or the coffee percolating in the morning, seeing someone who bears a striking resemblance to Dad like the great sportscaster Brent Musburger, hearing one of Dad’s favorite songs on the radio — will still bring me right back to special moments I had with Dad, but now those moments are filled with even more gratitude for being able to feel such a strong emotional bond with him.
The Blessing of Dad’s Personal Transformation
Twelve years after Dad’s passing, I appreciate more than ever how transformative his entire life experience really was for me and our entire extended family, especially as I process my own evolution as a dad, a husband, a now a grandfather of three. How could a Dad who lost so much in his life journey – his mom at 2; his dad at 12; like me, he lost a brother at a young age and also lost his other siblings later on life; he lost a high paying job that he loved as a NYC-based printer and had to redefine himself into something new; he gave up his love of beer at the age of 65 without any professional help and in so doing, fully transformed himself into the best person that God always wanted him to be. In his final 20 years of life, he finally was able to let go of some of those really painful things that he had been carrying since his early childhood days and the horror of surviving WW II. In short, Dad arrived at that deep place of inner peace we are all searching for. He became much more open and demonstrative in his love for each of us, always with a long hug, a kiss on the cheek, and ending every visit or phone call with “Love ya pal”. His example of personal transformation inspires me every day and I still look up to him just like I did on that great day in May 1967 when I received the sacrament of Confirmation and a photo of which adorns the cover page of this blog post.
My hope is that sharing my grief journey with others will resonate with many of you who have also lost your father. I often remind my clients in bereavement that there is no specific timeline for grief as every journey in grief is personal and unique to the one experiencing the loss of their loved one. Having your grief witnessed by others can help you move through the pain and allow the healing and the love that you have for your loved one to surface. Please know that there are tremendous resources available to you in grief so please feel free to reach out to me at any time if you need a safe harbor to share what you are going through.
Happy Father’s Day Dad. You were the best Dad then, you are the best Dad now, and you will always be the best Dad I could have ever hoped for in this life. Looking forward to our happy reunion.
Love always, Jackie
I close with my favorite song to honor my Dad and all Dads past, present, and yet to be on this special day performed by the great John McDermott! Wishing my fellow coaches, clients, colleagues and friends the gift of God’s abundant blessings, Dr. K
