Thank You and More of That Please (very OT)
Like a version of Alexander Hamilton, when I get into a pickle I try to write my way out. Today's is big grief. If you're having a shit sandwich too, however old it is, feel free to put it in the comments. One nice big Covid-safe excremental restaurant.
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Today's six years since my dad died. The grief hasn't gone away. Like, the fact of my father's death isn't being smashed into my face, but it's there in front of me all the time. Like a great big shit sandwich, and the only way to get past it is to eat it and keep it down.
I don't even know how far I am in mine because I can barely look at it. I take nibbles sparingly, when I have to, like after going sailing, or when my 3-year-old sees a photo and tells me my daddy looks like his daddy, or today when the sun is at it's The Day Dad Died angle again. Deep breath, look away, and bite.
I have to do it this way--I can't just look at how great he was, how important he was, how much I liked him, how much I wanted to be like him, and how much better my life was and is because of him, and parts of relationships that were damaged because my dearest loved ones have shit sandwiches on their plates. It's all smashed together with the extruded remains of meals and morsels those who knew my dad got to wolf down with a "thank you" and "more of that, please!" when he was alive.
Like here's one: a dinner in Paris in 2008 with his French business friend who said he was planning to use the grandpa name "Abe" because my dad's friend's grandkids call him that. Rachel and I had just gotten engaged a few days ago and there was this amazing seafood spread and bottle after bottle of champagne because the genesis of this dinner is Dad said he didn't like champagne which to a Frenchman is a challenge. It's bubbling up because today's a scheduled shit sandwich day, and because it recently occurred to me how much fun he was having at that moment, and how I couldn't understand then how deeply happy it must have made him because when you're in your 20s and just got engaged to the love of your life your brain isn't wired to consider what a father's perspective of that moment was.
I wonder if he thought this was as good as it gets, or if his internal awareness was such that he could properly rank it with biking around Mackinac Island with my chocolate-covered brother on his back, the look on my nephew's face the moment my dad's and my other brother sprinklers popped out of the ground for the first time, passing another boat while his Oxford Sailing-trained daughter worked the jib, or snapping a photo of the gorgeous, brilliant, socially conscious brunette who wanted to marry him as they were getting into a car not knowing if it was going to Boston for Harvard Business School or Detroit for Merrill Lynch. Or if he just thought "Thank you, and more of that please!"
One thing that doesn't help with shit sandwich digestion, in my experience, is trying to give it a silver lining. It's not like you can't find one--for example I think it's made me a better and more adult person, more empathetic for everyone else's shit sandwiches, more appreciative of the things that make a human life tragic and utterly sublime. I wish I could talk to him about some of this. Oddly I don't wish I didn't have to eat it. Give life this: it's worth it. More of that, please.
Shit sandwiches suck, and unfortunately seem necessary in life. Sorry you (or anyone) has to eat one.
Thanks for sharing something so personal. Based on the comments about your son, it seems like you are doing a great job of keeping your father’s memory alive for his grandkids. Hopefully he is able to look down on your family and smile when he sees that.
I have officially outlived my mother, who passed at 39, when I was 19 years old. She never met a grandchild, but I see her in my beautiful daughter every day. The pain remains, but I'm also just happy to still be reminded of her.
Still, whenever the kids ask why there are no grandparents on my side of the family, it's a giant shit sandwich.
As the casket was lowered for our father three years after our mother I turned to my brother and said "we're orphans." Later at Shiva we were surrounded by extended family and friends and told stories and laughed and cried. And I realized I was not an orphan but rather a very lucky man. Raised by caring, loving and kind people. Flawed of course, but utterly human. And I could continue to talk to my father anytime I wanted to and while he couldn't talk back I could hear him anyway.
In 12 days it’ll be 7 years since my dad died. Keep your memories alive.
That photo reminds me of a dinner I had with a colleague in Paris. He is maybe 5’ 5”, 130 pounds soaking wet. So he ordered the seafood platter for 2 and downed the entire thing by himself. It was impressive. Not quite Joey Chesnut level, but memorable nonetheless.
The other memory from this night was holding that beautiful woman's beautiful hair all night as she horked up a good third of the platter you see before you.
I'm still not over my Father's passing nearly 8 years ago. Now my wife has this movie up about a young couple where his wife has terminal cancer and she like 20 something and he's been up her hospital bed for weeks. Not a great 4th of July movie.
I'm sorry to hear that - I too know from experience that while it doesn't always get better with time, it gets more manageable as you navigate this strange new normal. Here's hoping for better days ahead.
Thank You, yes it is very sad losing one or both of your parents, especially when your parents were so great to you and would do anything for their children. That year I could not get off work for any of the end of the year Holidays, and he died suddenly a few weeks after New Years of 2012..He was in great shape, swam and walked a lot and was only 70. A lot of people would tease me while he was still alive, saying my Dad looked like my Brother since he looked so young. It was very hard on my Mom since they were only a few months away from their 50th anniversary. I'm just glad my Mom is doing better. Overall, time does heal. I can't imagine what it is like for a parent to lose a child, that would be the just horrible. My poor neighbor lost their 52 year old son just a month ago. He went for a run ( he would average 5 to 10 miles per day) and dropped dead while on his run. A lot of time his 10 year old son would always come over play with the other neighbor kids. This must just be for this poor child. I'm glad I had my Dad up until I was 48.
Your Dad sounds like an amazing person. You were lucky to have him, and he was fortunate to have your love and adoration.
Betting if he was here, he would tell all who would listen to quit worrying about shit sandwiches and other meaningless angst, and value and enjoy each day with your child, spouse, friends and family.
Feeling for you Seth and hoping you can find those peaceful moments on a day that seems made for happiness. It must feel like you’re being robbed of that joy sometimes.
My mom died 9 years ago at 52. Dad died 4 years ago at 60. Sometimes I look at our 1 year old little girl and really hurt for her that she’ll never have those grandparents to love on her.
The metaphor of eating a shit sandwich is doing, no matter how bad. You keep doing, taking action while being mindful of your feelings.
appreciate the vulnerability and lesson.
your Dad is damn proud of you and your family.
It’s been 14 years since my father died and I still have vivid dreams that he is not dead, but just been away for awhile, and now he’s back and pissed that I sold his house and got rid of his stuff. It usually takes several waking minutes to realize I don’t need to convert the garage into a room for my dad, and I feel off for most of the morning, still uncertain of what is reality.
dear seth,
i have been gone now for 6 years. its hard to tell you how much i miss you, your wife, and of course the grandkids. i know you get down sometimes about me being gone and hey, i have to tell you, it isn't easy. i sure as heck didn't plan on leaving. but i have to ask you to do something, it sounds easier than it is to do, but i want you to not look back, but instead to point your eyes forward. son, you are gifted with intellect, health and an emotional tone that you can weave into writing that is exceptional. put those talents to use in your home and your job and don't worry about me. life is for the living dear son, and you have a lot of living in front of you.
a wise man once told me that if you think your parents did well at the various tasks of raising you, that you challenge those children to pass it on and then some: not only not less, but greater than it was transmitted to them. so those kids of yours, they have an incredible set of parents and those parents need to keep their eyes and hearts on them, tying heart strings as long as they are in your orbit because as you know, there comes a time when they are out of your orbit and you just have to pray.
your mom and i were very, very proud of you. there never was nor ever will be a day we don't love you and your siblings. if you think of me from time to time, make that the signal to go grab the kids and give them your time and attention. push away from the computer, teach them how to bait a hook or throw a curveball or whatever, but give the the gift of time. i wish i had more time with you all, but i don't. however, you do have time and i want you to spoil your family with the time you have been given.
son, i love you to eternity.
dad
I’m bookmarking this; well said, thank you from all of us who have lost our father
Beautiful. Thank you so much XM.
Both my parents died when I was probably about your age. I don’t think it ever really gets better, but it does get more remote and it becomes easier to remember the good things.
I had a much worse time when my brother died a few years ago. The only thing I’m happy about in that particular shit sandwich is that my parents were already gone.
My father died just before I turned 4 and I have only the faintest memories of him that I'm not even sure are real. He was by all accounts a throughly decent man, outstanding father, and decidedly mediocre husband.
My mom never did remarry, and to this day, 39 years later, she's still angry at him for dying young and leaving her to raise a son and grow old alone.
I wish I had gotten to know him, even a little bit.
My wife's mom died of cancer 11 years ago. This week we found out her dad has cancer and it has spread to multiple organs. Some days and weeks are better than others.
Writing is great therapy. A thoughtful and thought provoking string of posts.
Stay strong bro.
Good to share your memories with your kids.
Seth,
your Dad sounds like a great man. I think most Dads are. At least you have great memories of your Father. Often times my Wife would say you sound like your Dad. Often, I wonder what my Dad would do if a problem in life springs up.
Here's to Oxford, the Isis, and the Boats.
Deeply felt and well written.
Seth,
You were incredibly kind to my wife and I last year on football Eve, albeit briefly. That is a reflection of your father and your family. I know things will never be totally complete again in this life, but cheers to fighting towards keeping what we can and clinging to it dearly.
You’re 1-2 years ahead of me in this process, Seth, and I relate to so much of what you’ve written here.
I anticipate that the grief will never go away, just be there when you need it. (And at times, perhaps, when you do not.) My only “advice” is to let the tears flow when you can.
More on my dad, in case it helps...
http://reedrambles.blogspot.com/2016/02/in-memoriam-walter-w-reed.html
Appreciate every day. Life can be cruel but embrace your loved ones as much as possible. Condolences to you and your family.
Dad died in 2019, but the cross I'm bearing is a bit different. I haven't grieved. Not. At. All. I mean, we didn't have the best relationship, but it wasn't fucking horrible. So, what the hell, am I just dead inside? Could be I guess.....
But I know it sucks. I feel like an ass about it.
Everybody experiences grief differently. I personally found that it hit me harder later than it did right after it happened; I tend to process these sorts of things much more slowly than a lot of people do.
It also hasn’t always been easy to come to grips with my father’s legacy. He was great in some ways, and not so great in others. You may be finding something similar, and there’s nothing wrong with that.
It was my mom who was supposed to die first despite being 6 years younger than my dad. She was a smoker for 56 years and had throat cancer, but it was my dad who went first - maybe intentionally (when I called my uncle to tell him his brother died he said , yeah your dad called last week and told me it was the last time he’d be calling me; he knew his heart was failing but didn’t want to be a “pin cushion” for the doctors). So for a year while I was building a house, and with a kindergartner, I took care of my mom feeding her through a tube, taking care of her house and trying to keep her from burning the house down. A year and a day after my dad died (and just before what would have been their 49th anniversary), she died. And... nothing. No tears, no sadness, I can’t even say relief. Exhaustion? No idea, but my sister didn’t even bother to come to her funeral and when you are a dude trying to figure out how to dress your dead mom for the wake, you get to a breaking point. So I feel you. It definitely is not you, nor a character flaw. There is no one way to grieve.
Hi Seth, my dad passed away 25 years ago. I miss him and think about him at least once a day. He had a great sense of humor, worked his ass off as a steelworker and was a loving dad.
I do wish my kids would have memories of him, but my oldest was 3, middle was 1 and my youngest was not yet born. We have a pic of him with my oldest and searched high and low for a pic of him with our 2nd child, but couldn't find one. That pissed me off. I'm sure I was angry that he died so young at 65, but not so now. It's just lost opportunities.
The shit sandwich gets lighter with less shit as time goes by. In time you'll loose the angst and it will be replaced with fond memories only.
Thanks for sharing this very personal memory. My dad went to his well-earned reward the day after your dad, and it sounds like they had more than that in common. Wouldn't surprise me if they're sharing a drink right now.
Seth, thanks for sharing. Your dad sounds like a real good guy. I'm sorry for your loss. My dad is my best friend and I can't imagine how I will deal with his loss when that day comes. Not close to the size of shit sandwich at the death of a parent but I'm eating my own shit sandwich today of a different kind. Me and my girlfriend of three years broke up last week and she officially moved out yesterday. It wasn't a fight or anything like that. We had different views on religion and different views on parenting ect. so the writing has been on the wall for a while we just pretended that love would override all that and carry us through. We finally had the guts to address it and realize we weren't right for each other. It sucks, so here I am nibbling away trying to stomach it.