In life there’s a lot you can’t plan for, no matter how hard you try.
No matter how well you prepare, you can’t imagine what loss will be like. You will have days that seem simple, straight-forward and just like always, leaving you smiling. Then there will be plenty of days when nothing makes sense. Everything feels unfamiliar and overwhelming.
On so many days, in so many ways, I had very little way of knowing whether I was doing OK.
I couldn’t get a handle on life in the way I always had, by asking those closest to me. They too were bewildered and often asked the same questions. So often everything felt altogether upside down. It was easy to get overwhelmed.
On more than one morning after Dad left us, I found myself overwhelmed by to-dos. Without him, suddenly it seemed like there was more to do. A lot more. Dad rarely intervened, but again, there was always a sense from afar or with Dad nearby, whatever had to get done would get done. Dad was always only a phone call away, and he always had the solution in word or in deed. Now what? “Just be,” my wife reminded me. Oh yeah, Dad’s still here through his wisdom.
Born with cerebral palsy, there is a lot I can’t do. I have undeniable weaknesses, but more important is knowing and doing what I’m good at.
Like Dad taught me, I’m much better off focusing on becoming the best version of myself rather than getting bogged down in others’ highlight reels. That’s a lesson I have to revisit regularly.
In the days, weeks and months after Dad left us, it was easy to think, “Well, they have it easy. They have a dad.” Or, “My pain is a lot worse than what they’re going through.” Then one day, I read a passage from Brene Brown’s Rising Strong that really got me. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past decade, it’s that fear and scarcity immediately trigger comparison, and even pain and hurt are not immune to being assessed and ranked.” Ooof. Yep, I’m still hurting.
Mom, on the other hand, amazes me. Surely she has to be feeling all this more than my wife and me, and yet regularly, I’ll hear her say, “So and so is hurting. I’m going to give them a call, write them a card or spend time with them.” Life goals.
Fortunately Brown provides hope in the Rising Strong Process: “The goal of the process is to rise from our falls, overcome our mistakes and face hurt in a way that brings more wisdom and wholeheartedness into our lives. No matter the pain, tragedy or fire you face, there can be redemption.”
On one April day and on probably many others as well, I awoke wishing I could crawl into a shell. I shared my feelings with my wife. “Then you wouldn’t go anywhere,” she said. “But it would be safe,” I responded. “That’s not what life’s meant to be,” she said. Life. Dad lived it to the fullest. Somehow I knew he was cheering us on and gently urging us to keep going.
Anyone who knew my Dad quickly acknowledged his gift for simplifying with his frequent one-liners.
He often said, "Just be."
Oh, right, catch my breath and just be. I can do this.
“Feelings are neither right nor wrong. They just are.”
“You mean I’m not broken or flawed for feeling the way I do right now? No, feelings are an indicator. What are they pointing to? At his best, like a coach, Dad asked questions, rather than providing answers. Regardless of whether you had been around Dad for a long time or a little, you almost always felt more capable around him.
“Major in the majors, minor in the minors.”
Not everything is a big deal. Learn to distinguish what is and isn’t and act accordingly.
“Listen to your body.”
If you’re feeling tired or hungry, it’s an indicator that your body needs something. Give it what it needs, and you’ll be glad you did.
The alternative is also true - let it go, or as Dad said, “Hit the delete button.”
Don’t get hung up on your mistakes or if things didn’t go according to plan. Get back up and keep moving forward.
When’s the last time you made a courageous choice to get back up and keep moving forward? I’d love to hear about it.
*Adapted from Miller Sam, “I’MPOSSIBLE JOURNEY: Finding Treasure in the Midst of Grief,” published 2025.
