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A Father's Legacy: Reflecting on the Narrative of Losing My Dad

Table of contents, introduction, a guiding light and endless love, the unfathomable farewell, navigating the rapids of grief, a continuation of love.

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Home — Application Essay — Medical School — About Death of a Father: My Reflecting on Life and Loss

About Death of a Father: My Reflecting on Life and Loss

• University: Iowa State University

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Words: 691 |

Updated: Nov 30, 2023

Words: 691 | Pages: 2 | 4 min read

This essay delves into the profound and transformative experience of losing a father, a pivotal event that reshaped my perspective on life and purpose. "There is goodness in everything that happens," a maxim instilled by my parents, became a beacon of resilience and hope through various challenges. Yet, the true test of this belief came with the hardest loss I've ever faced – the death of a father. His passing not only left a void but also imparted invaluable lessons about love, strength, and the importance of living fully. Herein, I explore the indelible impact of this life-altering event and the enduring lessons it taught me about overcoming adversity and finding purpose amidst grief.

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April 30, 2016 was the day I truly thought I could no longer see any good in life anymore. In every harsh situation, my dad had always been there to remind me that everything will be better- something I lost all too quickly. To be able to accept the fact that he’s no longer on earth was just too much. Pancreatic cancer cost my father his life. However, this disease managed to changed everything I ever knew. For the remainder of 2014, I was in a bubble of memories, I keep remembering every inconvenient I went through and how my father helped me get through it. But one memory, that never happened to leave my mind was the simplest and perhaps oldest memory. I remember getting my first D ever, and going back home in tears and the only person who managed to make me smile was him. He told me “Getting a D isn’t the end of the world, in fact, that D will motivate you to work harder and put more effort.” Fortunately, he was right, the second semester I changed that D to a C and I can still remember the excitement and happiness in his face telling me “I knew you could do it.” That memory woke me up, I realized that the life I was living was not the one Dad would have wanted for me. He wouldn’t want me to stay upset and give up on myself or my life in that case. He wants me to live and learn, not grieve and lose sight of everything else that I still have around me. From my birth to his dying breath, he was the perfect example of someone who loved life; he made the most out of everyday he had, even during his chemotherapy treatments. Not once have I seen my father with a frown on his face, he endured all the pain and smiled. Whether it was to keep himself stronger, or to encourage us to never stop believing, it worked. Remembering all those moments, those memories and those lessons from my father changed my perspective in life. I felt guilty that the end of his life caused me to stop living mine. Following this realization, I woke up each morning with my Dad’s simple philosophy of life in my mind: live. And so I lived.

My father’s death, undoubtedly the worst thing I have ever experiences, ultimately made me stronger. Once I was able to learn how to exist without him, life got less lonely. In fact, I was more motivated to live, to work hard, to achieve my goals and make my family proud. I stopped feeling sorry for myself, as life could always get worse - but could also get better, just like my dad taught me. His death taught me to love deeper, to appreciate what I have rather than what I had, and inspired me to make a lasting impact. His death taught me that we all have some sort of purpose on this earth, and his was to show people how to truly live. A huge lesson I learnt however, was based on the concept of last words. It’s impossible to know when you are speaking to someone for the last time. I can’t begin to express how grateful I am that the last words my father ever heard me say were that I’m here if you need anything. Therefore, the last words of this essay are the most important. I will work hard, I will never stop believing in myself, I will do my best to make my father proud. I will live my life and I endure to make a difference.

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Dear Therapist Writes to Herself in Her Grief

My father died, there’s a pandemic, and I’m overcome by my feeling of loss.

Dear Therapist,

I know that everyone is going through loss during the coronavirus pandemic, but in the midst of all this, my beloved father died two weeks ago, and I’m reeling.

He was 85 years old and in great pain from complications due to congestive heart failure. After years of invasive procedures and frequent hospitalizations, he decided to go into home hospice to live out the rest of his life surrounded by family. We didn’t know whether it would be weeks or months, but we expected his death, and had prepared for it in the time leading up to it. We had the conversations we wanted to have, and the day he died, I was there to kiss his cheeks and massage his forehead, to hold his hand and say goodbye. I was at his bedside when he took his last breath.

And yet, nothing prepared me for this loss. Can you help me understand my grief?

Lori Los Angeles, Calif.

Dear Readers,

This week, I decided to submit my own “Dear Therapist” letter following my father’s death. As a therapist, I’m no stranger to grief, and I’ve written about its varied manifestations in this column many times .

Even so, I wanted to write about the grief I’m now experiencing personally, because I know this is something that affects everyone. You can’t get through life without experiencing loss. The question is, how do we live with loss?

In the months before my father died, I asked him a version of that question: How will I live without you? If this sounds strange—asking a person you love to give you tips on how to grieve his death—let me offer some context.

My dad was a phenomenal father, grandfather, husband, and loyal friend to many. He had a dry sense of humor, a hearty laugh, boundless compassion, an uncanny ability to fix anything around the house, and a deep knowledge of the world (he was my Siri before there was a Siri). Mostly, though, he was known for his emotional generosity. He cared deeply about others; when we returned to my mom’s house after his burial, we were greeted by a gigantic box of paper towels on her doorstep, ordered by my father the day before he died so that she wouldn’t have to worry about going out during the pandemic.

His greatest act of emotional generosity, though, was talking me through my grief. He said many comforting things in recent months—how I’ll carry him inside me, how my memories of him will live forever, how he believes in my resilience. A few years earlier, he had taken me aside after one of my son’s basketball games and said that he’d just been to a friend’s funeral, told the friend’s adult daughter how proud her father had been of her, and was heartbroken when she said her father had never said that to her.

“So,” my father said outside the gym, “I want to make sure that I’ve told you how proud of you I am. I want to make sure you know.” It was the first time we’d had a conversation like that, and the subtext was clear: I’m going to die sooner rather than later. We stood there, the two of us, hugging and crying as people passing by tried not to stare, because we both knew that this was the beginning of my father’s goodbye.

But of all the ways my father tried to prepare me for his loss, what has stayed with me most was when he talked about what he learned from grieving his own parents’ deaths: that grief was unavoidable, and that I would grieve this loss forever.

“I can’t make this less painful for you,” he said one night when I started crying over the idea—still so theoretical to me—of his death. “But when you feel the pain, remember that it comes from a place of having loved and been loved deeply.” Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “Beyond that—you’re the therapist. Think about how you’ve helped other people with their grief.”

So I have. Five days before he died, I developed a cough that would wake me from sleep. I didn’t have the other symptoms of COVID-19—fever, fatigue—but still, I thought: I’d better not go near Dad . I spoke with him every day, as usual, except for Saturday, when time got away from me. I called the next day—the day when suddenly he could barely talk and all we could say was “I love you” to each other before he lost consciousness. He never said another word; our family sat vigil until he died the next afternoon.

Afterward, I was racked with guilt. While I’d told myself that I hadn’t seen him in his last days because of my cough, and that I hadn’t called Saturday because of the upheaval of getting supplies for the lockdown, maybe I wasn’t there and didn’t call because I was in denial—I couldn’t tolerate the idea of him dying, so I found a way to avoid confronting it.

Soon this became all I thought about—how I wished I’d gone over with my cough and a mask; how I wished I’d called on Saturday when he was still cogent—until I remembered something I wrote in this column to a woman who felt guilty about the way she had treated her dying husband in his last week. “One way to deal with intense grief is to focus the pain elsewhere,” I had written then. “It might be easier to distract yourself from the pain of missing your husband by turning the pain inward and beating yourself up over what you did or didn’t do for him.”

Like my father, her husband had suffered for a long time, and like her, I felt I had failed him in his final days.

I wrote to her:

Grief doesn’t begin the day a person dies. We experience the loss while the person is alive, and because our energy is focused on doctor appointments and tests and treatments—and because the person is still here—we might not be aware that we’ve already begun grieving the loss of someone we love … So what happens to their feelings of helplessness, sadness, fear, or rage? It’s not uncommon for people with a terminally ill partner to push their partner away in order to protect themselves from the pain of the loss they’re already experiencing and the bigger one they’re about to endure. They might pick fights with their partner … They might avoid their partner, and busy themselves with other interests or people. They might not be as helpful as they had imagined they would be, not only because of the exhaustion that sets in during these situations, but also because of the resentment: How dare you show me so much love, even in your suffering, and then leave me .

Another “Dear Therapist” letter came to mind this week, this one from a man grieving the loss of his wife of 47 years . He wanted to know how long this would go on. I replied:

Many people don’t know that Elisabeth Kübler-Ross’s well-known stages of grieving—denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance—were conceived in the context of terminally ill patients coming to terms with their own deaths … It’s one thing to “accept” the end of your own life. But for those who keep on living, the idea that they should reach “acceptance” might make them feel worse (“I should be past this by now”; “I don’t know why I still cry at random times, all these years later”) … The grief psychologist William Worden looks at grieving in this light, replacing “stages” with “tasks” of mourning. In the fourth of his tasks, the goal is to integrate the loss into our lives and create an ongoing connection with the person who died—while also finding a way to continue living.

Just like my father suggested, these columns helped. And so did my own therapist, the person I called Wendell in my recent book, Maybe You Should Talk to Someone . He sat with me (from a coronavirus-safe distance, of course) as I tried to minimize my grief— look at all of these relatively young people dying from the coronavirus when my father got to live to 85 ; look at the all the people who weren’t lucky enough to have a father like mine —and he reminded me that I always tell others that there’s no hierarchy of pain, that pain is pain and not a contest.

And so I stopped apologizing for my pain and shared it with Wendell. I told him how, after my father died and we were waiting for his body to be taken to the mortuary, I kissed my father’s cheek, knowing that it would be the last time I would ever kiss him, and I noticed how soft and warm his cheek still was, and I tried to remember what he felt like, because I knew I would never feel my father’s skin again. I told Wendell how I stared at my father’s face and tried to memorize every detail, knowing it would be the last time I’d ever see the face I’d looked at my entire life. I told him how gutted I was by the physical markers that jolted me out of denial and made this goodbye so horribly real—seeing my father’s lifeless body being wrapped in a sheet and placed in a van ( Wait, where are you taking my dad? I silently screamed), carrying the casket to the hearse, shoveling dirt into his grave, watching the shiva candle melt for seven days until the flame was jarringly gone. Mostly, though, I cried, deep and guttural, the way my patients do when they’re in the throes of grief.

Since leaving Wendell’s office, I have cried and also laughed. I’ve felt pain and joy; I’ve felt numb and alive. I’ve lost track of the days, and found purpose in helping people through our global pandemic. I’ve hugged my son, also reeling from the loss of his grandfather, tighter than usual, and let him share his pain with me. I’ve spent some days FaceTiming with friends and family, and other days choosing not to engage.

But the thing that has helped me the most is what my father did for me and also what Wendell did for me. They couldn’t take away my pain, but they sat with me in my loss in a way that said: I see you, I hear you, I’m with you. This is exactly what we need in grief, and what we can do for one another—now more than ever.

Related Podcast

Listen to Lori Gottlieb share her advice on dealing with grief and answer listener questions on Social Distance , The Atlantic ’s new podcast about living through a pandemic:

Dear Therapist is for informational purposes only, does not constitute medical advice, and is not a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician, mental-health professional, or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. By submitting a letter, you are agreeing to let The Atlantic use it—in part or in full—and we may edit it for length and/or clarity.

About the Author

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"My Father's Passing"

University of Michigan

2. The lessons we take from obstacles we encounter can be fundamental to later success. Recount a time when you faced a challenge, setback, or failure. How did it affect you, and what did you learn from the experience?

250 - 650 words

Why This Essay Works:

• Navigates Tragedy Gracefully : Writing about a tragedy like a loss of a parent is a tricky topic for college essays. Many students feel obligated to choose that topic if it applies to them, but it can be challenging to not come across as trying to garner sympathy ("sob story"). This student does a graceful job of focusing on positive elements from their father's legacy, particularly the inspiration they draw from him.
• Compelling Motivations : This student does a great job of connecting their educational and career aspirations to their background. Admissions officers want to understand why you're pursing what you are, and by explaining the origin of your interests, you can have compelling and genuine reasons why.

What They Might Change:

• Write Only From Your Perspective : In this essay, the student writes from their hypothetical perspective as an infant. This doesn't quite work because they likely wouldn't remember these moments ("I have no conscious memories of him"), but still writes as though they do. By writing about things you haven't seen or experienced yourself, it can come across as "made up" or inauthentic.

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What Grieving the Loss of My Father Has Taught Me

I’d like to start off by mentioning that everything I write is unique to my own experience with grief. I am in no way saying this is the right way, or the only way, to cope with loss. None of the points I’m making came from any book (though I have been — trying to — read one), or counselor, or generic list of “the five or eight or 10 or 12 stages of grief.” No. In fact, my point is the exact opposite.

Grief is different. It’s messy. It’s unlike any other feeling or experience. It can’t so easily be broken down like other emotions. This is simply my experience. What I’ve learned, how I came to certain realizations, and the people who both helped and hindered my growth through the process. This is where I am, and what I know, well over a year after losing my dad.

1. Everyone’s initial reaction to grief is different. This should be obvious, and it is, until you find yourself wondering if you’re doing it right. I want to make it clear: there is no “right” or “wrong” way to react. This past year I have known eight, possibly even more, people who lost a parent in 2016. I have seen glimpses of all of them deal with it. One woman I knew lived here in my town, but her entire family lives in Japan. She knew of her father’s death the day it happened, but she did not speak of it until over three months later. Instead of people, she turned to her religion to help her through. Only then did she mention it to friends here. And even when she did, she kept it brief, positive and upbeat. As if describing a favorite movie or a poem that evoked a deep passion and love inside of her. That was her way. She has since passed away as well, and I miss her and her uplifting spirit dearly.

Another friend of mine lost his father. He said he didn’t cry at all for the first four days, and even then, it was brief. That was his way.

As for myself, I kept pushing myself to do what I had to do to make it through life. I felt I had responsibilities, things that needed to be done. The world did not stop spinning simply because my heart had fallen apart. I pushed and pushed and pushed. Maybe too hard. I kept going to all of my six classes. I missed a little work but refused my bosses’ offer for a leave of absence. I avoided the feelings because I didn’t know how to handle them. This lasted for months (and blew up in my face in the end). But that was my way. Some people have periods of trouble functioning or finding purpose or meaning in the world after losing someone they love. We all react differently, and none of us are wrong — we just react differently.

2. There will be triggers. For those unfamiliar with the term, a trigger is anything that evokes a certain memory or emotion in you that upsets you. This can be anything from seeing the person’s personal belongings, hearing a song, passing a car that is the same make and model as theirs, eating something that was once their favorite food, or even seeing someone on the street who looks like them. Some of these triggers are unpredictable and unavoidable. The other day, two of my coworkers were having a conversation and one of them said the words “January 26th.” In that moment, I completely froze. I couldn’t walk. I couldn’t speak. I felt as if I couldn’t even breathe. I stood there, staring at the ground for two straight minutes. Thankfully, no one had noticed, and I took a deep breath and continued working, even though I felt as if someone had dropped a cinder block on my chest. It is a date I may never be able to hear without falling apart.

Triggers can be both destructive and therapeutic, depending on your state of mind at the time they occur. At times when you are already vulnerable, it is best to avoid these things if you can. I know I can’t pass the Motel 6 on Maple Road without crying (and bawling your eyes out while driving is usually not the safest idea), so I avoid going that way. And I know I can probably never enter that Spot Coffee again. So I won’t. Because it hurts too much. And that’s OK.

Other times, you may purposely look to certain triggers for comfort. When you want to remember the person, you may listen to a song that reminds you of them. I have an entire playlist that reminds me of my dad. I play it when I’m driving late at night alone. It brings up the anger I still feel towards him. The sadness. The happiness. And the pain. It allows me to feel everything I hold inside.

Maybe their memory makes you smile. Or maybe you want to cry about it. If that’s what you need in that moment, that’s OK. And that brings me to my next point.

3. It’s OK to cry about it.

4. It’s just as OK not to cry about it. Everyone copes differently. What’s important is not to judge yourself. Don’t allow yourself to feel shame for your reaction or lack of reaction to someone’s death. Everyone has their own way. It’s OK to cry. And scream. And curse the world, and the universe, or a higher power for taking away the person you love. It’s OK to feel whatever it is you feel. Feel sad. Feel lost. Feel a little bit broken. Feel f*cking angry if you have to. But try not to project those feelings on others around you. You are not angry with them; you’re angry at the situation.

5. There is no timeline for grief. By this, I mean a few things. First, when someone close to you dies, there are a lot of things that need to be done. Funeral planning, memorial services, and for close family and friends, gathering and distributing of the person’s belongings. Looking back on old memories can bring up a whole range of emotions, and I want you to know it’s OK to wait until you’re ready to go through these things.

After my father’s memorial, a few friends of his offered to talk with me about him. To tell me stories, reminisce and give me answers to the questions I’ve always had about him. It took me 10 months to accept their offer. I wasn’t ready to hear those stories, to learn any more than I already knew.

On my old Facebook account, I have hundreds of messages back and forth between us from when I was 16. It has been a year and eight months since I lost my dad, but I’m still not ready to read those messages. I’m not ready to read the words he wrote to me. I’m not ready to hear his voice in my head again. I’m not prepared to see his wild sense of humor and laugh, and then cry and beg the universe to just bring him back to me so I can read his words again. So I can hear his thoughts. And ask him questions.

I’m not ready. And that’s OK. Because one day, like with every other step I’ve taken in this grieving process, I will be.

Another thing I mean by “ there is no timeline for grief ” is that sometimes, people on the outside will have unrealistic expectations for your recovery from this grief. People like coworkers, friends, teachers, acquaintances, and even family that may cope differently than you. Sometimes, others may assume, suggest, or even outright say that grief should last a certain amount of time. They may say, even in the nicest way possible, that you should be over it by now. I’ve found that many people think grief should last a year, or six months, or some other ridiculous amount of time. I believe that is complete bullsh*t. How can you tell someone, especially someone who loved a person their entire lifetime, to get over it in a year?

Try to understand, maybe these people are trying to help you. But it’s possible their life experiences have not given them the skills they need to be supportive in the way you’d like them to be. I believe it’s OK to tell them you appreciate their concern, but their comment felt insensitive. And you would appreciate if they wouldn’t bring it up again.

Related to this…

6. Don’t let others tell you the way you feel is wrong. (And try not to be upset if they misunderstand the situation entirely.) What I mean by this is sometimes, people will say things that, unintentionally on their part, hurt you deeply. A woman I know once said to me, “Oh, well you didn’t really know your father, so I guess it wasn’t really that great of a loss.” While in fact, the situation is much more complicated than this. It was the most painful loss I have ever endured in my life. And possibly the reason for the greatest amount of change in my life.

People will say things like this in many situations. Like when a friend you haven’t seen in years, or rarely hang out with, passes away. They assume it isn’t that big of a deal or will be simple to get over when that is rarely the case. Remember, they don’t know your relationship with your loved one, how emotions affect you personally, or other factors that may go into the specific situation at hand.

Try to gauge their intentions. In my situation, the woman was kind. She was trying to be lighthearted and didn’t understand that what she said could be taken offensively. So I didn’t react. I understood her intention. If, however, they are being cruel or insensitive, it is OK to end the conversation and keep your distance from this person. At least during times you are feeling the most vulnerable.

7. You should find a healthy outlet. When I picture my dad in any circumstance, he is smoking a cigarette. Therefore, when I start to think about him, I too, light up a cigarette. And if it’s one of those long nights spent in my car listening to that gloomy old playlist, I am chain-smoking cigarettes. In fact, the majority of those trips land me right at the Rez. Where I’m 20 bucks shorter and ready to go home. When I get there, I’ll probably spend another hour in my car, leaned back in my seat trying to figure out the impossible.

Now this is by no means a healthy coping mechanism. In fact, it’s obviously the complete opposite. I’d like to stop doing this, but I’m not at a place where I’m ready. I will be, someday. But in the meantime, I’ll try to add more positive coping mechanisms to my life.

Learning a hobby is one of the best things you can do for yourself. Especially if that hobby reminds you of happier times spent with the person. If they were a musician, pick up a guitar. Think of them as you play. Write a song for them. Or for yourself. I didn’t know my dad’s hobbies, or really, much of anything about him at all. But I know he wrote poetry, once. Maybe I’ll write a poem for him someday. I don’t know if that poem will come from a place of anger or love. But I know it will help me cope with whatever it is I’m feeling in that moment. One day I’ll read the books that were his and learn what he learned from them. Try to feel what he felt.

Find something that makes you feel something, but mostly importantly, brings you joy as you learn and you grow, and become capable of a new skill.

8. Find ways to express yourself. On one of those tear-filled nights in my car, I had smoked one too many cigarettes. I began to feel sick, and restless. I suddenly felt the need to write it all down. Everything I was feeling. Everything I was thinking. But as soon as I sat down to try, I couldn’t get the words out. I was trembling. It had been a total of less than five minutes and I already wanted to smoke again. So I went back to my car, took a deep breath and pressed record. The recording was an hour and 14 minutes long. I sat there, and I told the five-day-long story of losing my dad. How it felt, what I did. What everyone said. Hour by hour. Day by day, I went through the whole thing and just allowed myself to feel every part of it. It was five months after I had lost him. My memory is poor, and I remember saying on the recording, “I just never want to forget this.”

Whether you ramble in a diary or on a blog, write a song, or a poem, tell a friend, or tell yourself, if you need to talk about it, let it out. And if you’re not ready, let it be.

None of this is to tell you not to seek help. There are many incredible resources out there. From counseling, to books, to simply talking with other human beings. If that 12-step process to handling grief will help you, so be it. If you religion heals you, let it. If writing, or singing, or screaming help you, do it. These are simply my thoughts, and my way. On your journey, you will find your own way. I just hope maybe this helps you feel a little less alone. A little less like maybe you’re doing it wrong. I wrote this because for a long time, I felt like maybe I didn’t know how to properly grieve. I know now there is no wrong way to grieve. We are all different. And we will all find our own ways to deal with this pain. I hope you find yours.

If you or someone you know needs help, visit our suicide  prevention resources  page.

If you need support right now, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at  1-800-273-8255,  the Trevor Project at  1-866-488-7386  o r text “HOME” to  741-741 . Head  here  for a list of crisis centers around the world.

Follow this journey on the author’s blog .

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I write about coping with mental health.

The Person I Became After My Father’s Death

A fter my father dies, I become, for a time, someone I do not recognize. Entire weeks are all but lost to me, scooped out of my once airtight memory. Our rental term ends two months after the funeral, and when we move into another house, I hardly remember packing or unpacking.

I don’t know how to ask for leave from my job. I tell myself that I can’t afford to take unpaid time off anyway. The truth is that I have always been able to work, and now I learn that grief is no hindrance to my productivity. I bank on this, even feel a kind of twisted pride in it. It doesn’t matter to me whether I take care of myself, because I do not deserve the care. All my parents wanted was to spend more time with us, to see us more than once a year or every other year, and I never found a way to make it happen, and now my father is dead. When other people—my husband, my friends—try to tell me that I am not at fault, I barely hear them. Punishing myself, keeping myself in as much pain as possible, seems like something a good daughter should do if it is too late for her to do anything else.

There is a flurry of activity in the run-up to the publication of my first book . My publisher sends me to conferences, schedules readings and interviews. I am grateful, and frankly surprised, to be getting any attention at all, and so of course I tell everyone that I am more than ready to do my part, to help the book succeed. I know how important it is to my career, and I feel enormous pressure not to let down any of the people who are working so hard on it. I want it to have a fighting chance, too, because it is a book in which my father still lives.

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When I stop working, it’s not to rest but to head to a soccer game or swimming lesson, or plan a Girl Scout meeting, or chaperone a school field trip. I treat myself like a machine, which makes it easy for the people I work and volunteer with to see and treat me that way too. “It’s been hard,” I say with a shrug, when asked how I’m doing, “but I’m hanging in there.” One day, my older child calls me out on my usual choice of words.

“How come you always tell people that you’re ‘hanging in there’?” she asks.

Well, I think, a bit defensively, because I am. Am I not still doing what needs to be done: getting up every morning and going to work, taking care of my family, saying yes to anything anyone asks me to do? I haven’t dropped a single ball at work. My publishing team has thanked me for my promptness in replying to their emails, for being so great to work with. I am an expert at grieving under capitalism. Watch and learn.

All the while, I keep daydreaming about walking into traffic.

From the moment the thought pushes its way into my grief-muddled brain, I know that I could never act on it. It’s not that I want to hurt myself—it’s that I cannot seem to work up any remorse when I think about no longer being alive. Nor does the thought frighten me, as it always did before. What if you didn’t have to feel this way anymore? my mind proposes, in moments that are deceptively calm, moments when I am not sobbing in the shower or screaming in my car because I cannot scream at home. What if the pain could just end?

As a child, I knew that I was not permitted to indulge in the hyperbolic or sarcastic statements other kids made about wanting to die, because my father would erupt. Toward the end of sixth grade, my teacher had everyone in my class write a fake will; my most charitable reading is that the exercise might have been intended to help us identify the things that were most important to us as we moved from elementary into middle school, symbolically leaving our childhoods behind. Most of my classmates made light of the task— I hereby bequeath my Game Boy to my little brother, because he always steals it anyway —but I remember little of what I wrote in my will, only my father’s fury over the assignment. “You’re 12 years old!” he yelled. He threatened to call my teacher. And then all the fight went out of him, his voice numb as he told me about being 21 years old and witnessing the death of his favorite cousin. The two of them had shared an apartment in a Cleveland high-rise, and one night my father came home to find him about to jump from their window. He pleaded with him, tried to stop him, but his cousin leaped before he could reach him. Dad had always blamed himself.

Read More: Grief Is Universal. That Doesn’t Make It Less Isolating

It takes me months, after his death, to realize that I am not fine, or hanging in there. I go to see my doctor for a long-overdue physical and break down in the exam room, sobbing as she hands me one flimsy tissue after another. I leave with a referral to a counseling practice, but manage to find one closer to my house, close enough to walk, because I know I’ll come up with a million reasons to reschedule or cancel otherwise.

During one early session, my therapist, the first Asian American therapist I’ve ever worked with, asks me if I know what has kept me from harming myself as I flounder in grief. I don’t even have to think about the answer. “My family,” I say. My children, who have no idea how dark my thoughts have become. My husband, who keeps our household afloat on days when I cannot manage anything beyond the workday. My sister, who faithfully checks on me every week. My mother, whom I text and call so often it probably annoys her. “The people I love still need me.”

“And you still need them,” she says. “You don’t want to leave them.”

I feel the truth of these words in my bones, try to keep them close.

Slowly, I find my footing again. When I catch myself faltering, fumbling in the dark for a thread to follow back to the person I was before, the thing that often keeps me from despair is talking with my mother. Sometimes I wish that she would voice some concrete need, ask me to do something for her, but she seems to be taking care of herself—it occurs to me that this might be easier than taking care of both herself and Dad, as much as she misses him. I can sense her sorrow and restlessness, always, but there is a driving, don’t-quit vitality about her, even in mourning.

One day, she tells me she has decided to get rid of Dad’s lift chair, and one of their old end tables. I never liked that table, Dad did. I am learning that I can make decisions based on what I want—that if I don’t like something, I can just make a change. Another day, we discuss whether she might get a dog; it has been a long time since she had one in the house. She sheepishly tells me she used some of the money I gave her to buy new miniblinds. “That’s perfect!” I say. I don’t care how she spends it, as long as it’s useful.

Read More: How I Found My Desire to Live After My Wife Died

It’s hard for either of us to imagine her remarrying. But as she begins to plan the next stage of her life without my father, I realize that I can picture her living out her own days in peace—and, more important, it seems she can as well. My heart lifts when she tells me that she is planning a trip to Greece with two of her friends from church, intending to use what’s left of my father’s life-insurance payout to make her first-ever trip outside the country. They will visit monasteries and holy sites, see the sights, and swim in the sea; the trip is to be part pilgrimage, part escape.

After that adventure, I think, I will help her consider what she wants her new life to look like. I can be her sounding board, if nothing else. I know her ties to Oregon are strong after four decades there, but maybe someday she’ll decide that she wants to move closer to us on the East Coast. Or maybe we will relocate to the Northwest and provide more support to her once our kids are done with school. There’s no need to figure everything out now, I tell myself. Dad has been gone only a matter of months. We have time. Mom has time.

I feel certain she has never doubted, for a second, that living is worth it.

Chung is a TIME contributor and the author of A Living Remedy , from which this essay was adapted

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Guest Contributor • June 8, 2010 • Last updated: September 25, 2021

Losing Dad: How a Man Responds to the Death of His Father

Editor’s note: This is a guest post from Brian Burnham. Mr. Burnham holds a Masters of Education in Counseling from the College of William and Mary and is a Care Coordinator for Riverside Behavioral Health Center.

“His heritage to his children wasn’t words or possessions, but an unspoken treasure, the treasure of his example as a man and a father.” — Will Rogers Jr.

While growing up, our fathers, whether for good or ill, are our earliest and strongest examples of manliness. Even for those who grow up fatherless his influence is a major one, conspicuous for its absence. It is therefore only natural that the death of a man’s father is an event that holds incredible and often very painful significance. When I last wrote for the Art of Manliness, I spoke to the ways in which men grieve. It is not surprising that many of the men who responded to that article alluded to the loss of their father. While a man grieving the loss of his father will go through an experience similar to what was previously discussed, the fact that the deceased is the man’s father makes the experience unique. Many men who have lost their fathers describe it as a loss like no other. They report that the way they grieved their father was different from any other grief that they experienced and often felt that the only people who could readily understand were other men that had also lost their fathers. ((Veerman, D., & Barton, B. (2003). When Your Father Dies: How a Man Deals with the Loss of His Father. Nashville, TN: Thomas Nelson Publishing.)) I know that I certainly felt this way when my father passed in February 2009. It is that uniqueness, as well as the short and long-term effects of losing a father, that I hope to address here.

In their book When Your Father Dies: How a Man Deals with the Loss of His Father , Dave Veerman and Bruce Barton interviewed sixty men from all walks of life who had lost their fathers. While each man’s story was unique, the authors identified and described the common themes that readily emerged from these accounts.

Vulnerability. When our father dies, we frequently lose much more than the person of our father. It’s often surprising to men how the world doesn’t stop at his passing. Sons are acutely aware of their father’s passing, and when the world doesn’t share that same awareness it can leave the grieving son feeling terribly alone and isolated from a world that doesn’t seem to understand. Many men experience a sense of being an orphan even if their mother is still alive because they feel so alone in the world. This sense of vulnerability is compounded by the fact that for many of us our fathers served as a kind of shield. We knew that we could count on dad for help and advice when things turned against us. With his father gone, the son may not know where he can turn in a crisis and feel vulnerable and afraid. This holds true as well for men who had a negative or non-existent relationship with their fathers. While dad may not have been a protector or provider, men still feel vulnerable and alone, often feeling that they are the only ones that can break negative cycles in their families.

Awareness of Mortality. As I noted in my last article, we live in a culture that prefers to deny and avoid the reality of death. However when a man loses his father the reality that life is finite and that he too will someday die becomes inescapable. While this realization can come anytime death touches us, it is particularly potent when we lose our fathers. This is because many men see their father as part of themselves and a small part of them has died with their dad. Not only is the inevitability of death driven home, but also its finality. The son knows that he will never (at least in this life) see his father again, and that when he too dies it will be just as final. Some may say, “So what, death is an objective fact, why should losing a particular person make this fact so much more frightening?” The problem is the illusion of control. We as men all operate under the assumption that we are in command of our own destiny, that we are in control. In many cases this is more or less accurate; however, when it comes to death, this simply isn’t true. Having our protective illusion stripped from us is terribly emasculating since no amount of self-control or problem solving can bring back the dead. This leaves the surviving son grieving not only his father, but also the new understanding he has reached.

Loss of Audience. It’s a classic American image, the son playing sports and the father coaching and cheering him on. This dynamic between father and son isn’t limited to sports but extends to many areas of a son’s life. A son will often go out of his way to please his father, and he is one of the few people that it is acceptable to truly brag to. We can proudly bring home our trophies and A+ papers to show to dad, and this dynamic extends well in to adulthood as men share their accomplishments in college, their career, and family. When our father is gone it feels, not like the audience is missing a member, but the whole audience is gone. For sons who are also fathers themselves this loss extends to not being able to share the accomplishments of their children with the proud grandfather and not being able to seek out advice for parenting. Many sons miss dad not only when they need parenting advice, but when they need their old coach in any area of life that’s giving them trouble. For a man whose father was distant or absent, this loss of audience was felt long before his father’s death as he struggled in vain to earn his father’s approval. Now at his death the loss is doubled as the son realizes he can never gain the approval he craved when his father was alive.

Taking Up the Mantle. In many ways the death of a father serves as a right of passage , though a painful and difficult one. This is due to the fact that for many sons their inheritance is less about property and more about responsibility. Many men, regardless of their age when their father died, feel like they grew up suddenly and significantly when it happened. Their father’s death leaves a vacuum in the family dynamic, and sons often feel compelled to step up to try to fill their father’s role. This is especially true if the father had been the leader and protector of the family. Sons may feel a great deal of pressure and may not feel up to the task of protecting and leading the family. If Mom is still alive, then caring for her will often be a central focus of this sense of responsibility. At best this will lead to growth for the son, and the family will pull together and become closer as it adjusts to the new dynamics. However, this is not always the case. Family members may resist the son’s efforts to take a leadership role; siblings may even compete for leadership within the family. At worst this can lead to a family disintegrating without the presence of the father that had once held them together. For men whose fathers were absent or abusive, the idea of taking up their father’s mantle is sometimes frightening. These sons have no desire to fill the same dysfunctional role as their father and feel an intense pressure to break the painful cycles that their father had embodied.

A Long Shadow. As a boy grows, he learns many lessons and skills from his father who serves as his mentor and teacher. The son also quickly learns that in these circumstances it is often better to do things his father’s way both because he has more experience and because it is often not worth the hassle of disobedience. Sons long for the approval of their fathers and live to be told “good job.” This desire for a father’s approval and dislike of disapproval extends into adulthood and men are not free of it even after their father’s death. Sons will often feel the presence of their father when they use skills that they learned from him, visit places associated with him, or use his possessions. When it comes to these possessions many men report keeping a memento or two of their father that helps them stay connected to him. For me personally, it is my father’s drafting tools and his wedding band, which serves as my own. However, sons can find it difficult to get rid of or make changes to their father’s property. They often feel like they’re trespassing and feel the sting of their father’s disapproval. They may also feel this sense of disapproval when they choose to do things in a way other than “Dad’s way.” Conversely sons will still long for their father’s approval, holding up things they do to scrutiny and asking themselves “Would dad be proud?” In this way the long shadow of our fathers affects the way we live our lives long after his passing. This is superficially similar to the “loss of audience” experience because in both experiences the grieving son longs to interact with his dad again. The experience of the long shadow differs, however, in that it is less about having someone to watch and cheer and more more about seeking approval and avoiding disapproval.

Our Father’s Legacy. As the son progresses through the grieving process, one of the tasks he will inevitably work through is sorting through the legacy his father has left him. Men will often look at the life of their fathers and that of their grandfathers and great-grandfathers to try to take stock of their heritage and to see how their father’s values and lifestyle have influenced them. Some sons will look back happily on men of character and values that they admire and hope to emulate. Other sons will look back to see a chain of flaws, faults, and abuses-a legacy they’d rather leave behind. But even these sons usually seek some positive quality in their father’s legacy that they can hold onto. For the son who is also a father, examining the legacy also comes with the realization that they too are a link in this chain, that someday they will be passing the legacy on to their own children. Many men are inspired by this to forge stronger relationships with their children so that the legacy they leave is one that their children can be proud of when it is their turn to mourn their father.

While these themes are typical of men that have lost their fathers and lend the perspective and understanding that is an important part of healing, it is extremely difficult to effectively capture the uniqueness and complexity of this experience. I personally continue to struggle to understand the loss of my father. Even as I wrote this article I would at times have to stop as memories came flooding back and all I could do was sit there at my keyboard and cry. Even as I struggle though, I know that I have gained at least one thing from mourning my father, a determination to live a life that will find me worthy to be called my father’s son. For each reader who is a son who has lost their father I would encourage you to do two things. First I would encourage you to struggle. While this may seem odd, it is in working through the turmoil of mourning that we stand to gain the most as men. Second I would encourage you to seek out the company of other men in the same position. They can provide some of the strongest support. Fortunately for us, AoM is an excellent place to seek out the support of our fellow men.

To this end I have started a Group in the AoM Community, “Remembering Dad ,” for men who have lost their fathers. It is a place to mourn, celebrate, and remember our fathers and a place for men to share experiences and draw strength from one another. I invite you to join up.

Now I would like to turn it over to the reader to share stories of their dads and their struggle so that we can together search for meaning.

When Your Father Dies: How a Man Deals with the Loss of His Father by Dave Veerman and Bruce Barton

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My Father Passed Away, And It Made Me A Better Person.

I would give anything and everything I have right now to have my father back in this world.  There is not a day that goes by that I don’t miss him, or wonder what life would be like if he were still here.

It’s been five years since my father passed away from cancer. 

I’ve been very open about my story with my readers ever since I published my first photo project on this blog three years ago ( READ: I Left Everything To Travel The World For And With My Father ).

I was 24, untraveled, stuck in a life that may have seemed a dream for others, but one that wasn’t being true to myself.  I was unhappy, unfulfilled, unsettled and well on my way to hitting rock bottom.  I left everything (apartment, relationship, job, friends) in my old life behind to travel the world for the very first time.  People would ask me, “Weren’t you scared?”  Hell yes, I was scared. But I had reached the point where I knew that I had nowhere else to go but up.  So I took the biggest risk of my life.

That’s the thing about what seems like unbearable sadness and complete loss of hope – it just can’t get any worse.  It can only get better.

Two years later, I wrote a post on the lessons I had learned the two years after he died ( READ: 10 Things I Learned While Dealing With The Death Of A Loved One ).

And since then, life has continued to throw me numerous curveballs, allowed me to experience adventure and pushed me into situations that fuel my passions.   There is good that can come from the bad.

But  finding happiness isn’t easy.   Sometimes, it’s disgustingly difficult, hidden behind your worst fears, and it won’t show itself until you build up your courage and fight for it.  But eventually, you will find it – as long as you don’t give up.  I’m proof of that.

But most people who meet me now don’t know about the last five years.  They don’t know who I was before my father died, or during the year when he was sick.  I was a completely different person.  They didn’t experience me during my grief, during my transformation.

They didn’t see the bald spots that once covered my head. The thirty extra pounds of weight I hid behind layers of black. The closet full of clothing, bags and shoes I knew I didn’t need but bought anyway.  Just to feel a little bit less shitty throughout the week.

They get to see the person I am today.  Sugar and butterflies. Salty hair, usually barefoot, cracking jokes that aren’t always funny. The lighthearted laughter, the sun-kissed skin.  The mind behind the motivation fed through instagram captions. The now nomad with an incomparable zest for life.

But I wasn’t always this person.  It took me five years of life’s lessons to get me here.

Five years and twenty-five countries.  And I want to share the journey that shaped me into the woman I am today – the woman I am slowly but surely becoming – the woman I hope that my father would be proud of.

You will become pickier with your priorities.

Oh, you know how they say life is short?  Well there’s nothing like the death of your most favorite person to kick you in the a-s and remind you of how short it actually is.

I never for a second thought that I would have to live the rest of my life without my dad .  I can’t call him on the phone to talk to him when I can’t make a decision. Or when I’m stressed out. I can’t just go home and hug him. I can’t thank him for everything he’s done.  I can’t repay him for the sacrifices he made for our family.  He will not be there to walk me down the aisle when I get married one day.

So when you realize how short life can actually be, your perspective changes and so do your priorities.

Some of the things that you felt were important will quickly become a waste of time.  You will grow and shift, become uncomfortable with your current life , and all of that discomfort creates pressure that forces you to reprioritize, re-examine and reshape the life you want to live.

You will know empathy, and it will create depth.

The beautiful thing about hardship is that it builds empathy – the ability to feel for and connect with others.  It’s about being able to put yourself in someone else’s shoes.   To actually give a f-ck about someone other than yourself.

And maybe that’s what has made me realize how beautiful it is to actually connect with someone on a deeper level.  Someone who understands your pain, can empathize with it because they have undergone their own type of trauma, built themselves back up by overcoming their fears and eventually finding peace again.   Someone who has been through their own journey, to identify with yours and feel as much as you feel.

You are inspiring others.

Yes, even now. Even in your darkness. Even when you’re difficult.  Someone is looking at you, what you are going through – and is in awe of how you still manage to go about your life.  It is a magnificently inspiring thing – to watch you have the strength to smile or laugh despite all of your hardships.  Because of you, someone is looking at their own life and pushing to continue.

We often do not look at ourselves as inspirational, but I believe that everyone in the world can inspire someone by their story.

Most often, the people who have known hardship end up becoming the most successful, most empathetic and the most inspiring people in the world.

You, too, have the ability to help someone re-examine their own lives, and help them become a better person.

You are more emotional, and it is beautiful.

I was once so deeply afraid of my emotions that I tried to hide them from others and myself.  And it broke me down.  I stored them away and went through them alone.  But when I started accepting and embracing them, it allowed me to create more open human connections.

And the friends who are there for you at your lowest moments, are the ones who will be there for you forever.  The people who love you for your emotions, truly know you and will support you no matter what.   Keep these people close.

I know so much more happiness and gratitude because I have known sadness and loss.  It’s not that you experience only sadness when you are more emotional – you feel more of everything.

Your smile is brighter, your laugh is contagious and the simplest things will make you happier than the most extravagant.

I’m talking about pure, uncomplicated joy.  And you will feel it in its raw form.   Because you have truly known sadness.

You will not let fear control your decisions anymore.

People call me strong but I don’t always feel that way.   I feel like a normal girl.  I can have a temper, deal with insecurities, want to be loved, and feel emotional like anyone else.  Sometimes I feel like a sh-t show, like my life isn’t in order.  My biggest fear is that I will never find someone to love me the way my father loved me – unconditionally .

I used to fear sleeping in places where bugs crawled on the ceilings.  I used to fear surfing waves that were bigger than six feet.  I used to fear letting a boy think I liked him too much, so I played games and didn’t stay true to myself.  I used to fear making rash decisions, or planning too little, or living without a sense of security.   I used to fear change in any shape or form.

And I used to let these fears control my decisions , and my life.  But I now see fear as an opportunity to challenge myself , and prove to myself that I am capable of overcoming each and every one.

I feel every bit of that fear before paddling out to a surf break I’ve never been to before.  And when I jump off of waterfalls in a third world country.  When I don’t know where I’m going to live next month, or if I’ll continue to find work as a photographer in the future.

I feel every bit of that fear and I do it anyway.   And the practice of doing this will undoubtedly grow your confidence. Mine has grown exponentially in the last five years. I have done things that I never thought I could do.

I traveled alone to over twenty five countries.   I climbed the highest mountain in North Africa while it was covered in snow.  I fell in love, got my heart broken and have not let it turn me hard.  I have surfed in waves stronger than I thought I was prepared for in over ten countries.  I walked away from a five year relationship that I was scared to leave even though it was the most damaging to my confidence, mental health and self esteem.   I photographed some of the world’s best surfers at one of the most famous and scariest surf breaks on the planet .  I left a life of job security for the thought of an unstable future, for a guaranteed life of freedom.

And it is because I know that nothing I will ever go through – whatever problem, whatever issue, whatever heartbreak – will be as difficult as my father’s death.  If I can go through that trauma, that hardship, that depression, and make it out alive – I will be able to get through anything. It has given me strength and perspective.   And fear is no longer an option.

The best is yet to come.

I am constantly pushing myself to become better at what I am doing.   Constantly pushing myself to become a better person. To be kind to all people. Move with purpose. Live a life that I and my family would be proud of.

  From sadness and hardship comes growth , change and magnificent transformation.

I am embracing change and adventure.  I am trying to keep my heart open, even when people hurt me.  I am doing the very best that I can to make the world a more positive place. And I know that I would never be this person if I hadn’t gone through what I had five years before.

My father made me a better person when he was alive.  And he continues to make me a better person even though he has passed away.  Because that does not mean that he is gone.

His capacity to love , never-ending forgiveness , selfless nature and lighthearted laughter motivates me, lives within me and everyone else in my family.

Five years later, and yes – there are still moments when I get sad , missing my father and wishing he were here.  Those moments will probably never go away.  There are still moments when I get frustrated, when bad things happen to me, or when my feelings are hurt.  But these are the parts of life that help you grow, blossom into a stronger, more resilient soul.

I hope you remember this when you are feeling like you are alone in your pain.  I hope you remember that good is coming, and that you are stronger than you think.

Thank you to Prudential Financial and Bloglovin’ for supporting me by sponsoring this post, and allowing me to share my story as part of their # masterpieceoflove project.  For more inspirational stories of loss, resilience, family and love — visit the official site for #masterpieceoflove here .

C’mon, he loved me even when I looked like this as a baby.

Miss and love you always.  Thank you for everything you’ve done for us.

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What I Learned From Losing My Father at a Young Age

We interviewed grief researcher Anna Baglione PhD about how losing her father as a young child helped form her personality and her life choices. She helps us to understand what a child goes through when they lose a parent and gives advice on how we can help a child who loses their mother or father. 

1.  What age were you when your father died?

I was nearly a teenager when my dad died. I guess you could say he avoided all the teenage drama that comes with having a young daughter, though I’m sure he would have been up to the task.

2. How do you remember it affecting you at the time? 

It was . . . depressing. I went from having a relatively normal life to having to wear an ugly funeral dress and awkwardly comfort people who were trying to comfort me. I became a very angry kid. I distinctly remember getting pulled out of basketball practice once a week so we could attend family grief therapy. I hated it (God bless the grief support counselors ). It was awkward, and I mostly just sat in the corner trying to avoid the uncomfortable icebreaker questions. I also dropped out of piano lessons. Things just became a mundane kind of sad.

3.  Did your relationship with your mother change? 

We had to learn to lean on each other more than we were used to, for routine things like getting laundry and dishes done, or just figuring out “what’s next”?  It was definitely a learning curve. 

4. Who or what were able to help you at the time? 

Family friends, my parents’ co-workers, teachers . . . everyone tried as best they could to help.

5. Are there things that you feel could have been done differently or could have helped you more at the time? 

Not much - maybe if my mom had access to more financial resources things would have been a little easier. I was lucky - I ended up getting a scholarship to attend a really good high school, which helped. But I also remember all the rejection letters my mom got for tuition assistance. There didn’t seem to be any consideration for widows, in that respect.

6.  How do you think this experience has shaped your life or your personality over time? 

I think I’ve become more empathetic, for sure. While the experience of going through grief was an unwelcome one, the empathy gain has come in handy.

7. Does losing someone at an early age give you more empathy?  Or can it mean that the tragedies of other people can be more overwhelming? 

It comes in waves. Conducting our CHI 2018 study on grief support groups , it felt like I was talking to others who understood me (and I could understand them and tell their stories). But once we submitted the study for publication, my body acted like it was going through grief all over again. I couldn’t sleep well, and I wasn’t hungry . . . empathy is a strange beast.

8. What advice can you give those who may be supporting children through grief?  Teachers, parents, friends? 

Be incredibly, incredibly patient. Let them be angry, or sad, or whatever they need to be. And help them find a creative outlet for it (e.g. photography, painting, music, sports). It helps.

9. What else would you like to tell our readers about the experience of losing a parent at an early age?

Grief is tough, and sometimes life deals you sad cards. But it can serve a higher purpose, if you shape it into something meaningful over time. 

10. Do you think that your experience with loss is what led you to become involved with grief research? 

I do think my experience (and observing the experience of a family member, years later) pushed me to explore grief-related research as a purposeful direction for my work. It just took me awhile to realize I could do that kind of research, and that it could potentially benefit other people by giving a voice to their stories.

We are most grateful to Anna for working with us and sharing her valuable insights. If you are still coping with issues from losing a parent at an early age, have a look at some of our pages below, or see whether you might need counseling here. 

Related Pages:

How to Cope with Losing a Parent

Helping Children Cope with Grief

Books on Loss of a Parent

Where to get help: 

Have you considered one-on-one online grief counseling .

Get Expert and Effective Help in the Comfort of Your Own Home

The following information about online counseling is sponsored by 'Betterhelp' but all the opinions are our own.  To be upfront, we do receive a commission when you sign up with 'Betterhelp', but we have total faith in their expertise and would never recommend something we didn't completely approve.  

Do you feel alone and sad with no support and no idea how to move forward?  It can be tough when you are stuck in grief to find the motivation to get the most out of your precious life. 

Online counseling can help by giving you that support so you don't feel so alone. You can have someone to talk to anytime you like, a kind and understanding person who will help you to find meaning in life again, to treasure the memories of your loved one without being overwhelmed and to enjoy your activities, family and friends again.

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Hypnosis for Grief - 10 Ways It Can Help You

Try a gentle hypnotherapy track to relax the mind. Learn how self-hypnosis can help you cope with grief at any time of the day or night.  

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14 Comforting Quotes About Losing Your Father

Words of wisdom for solace and strength when you remember your dad this Father's Day.

“At the blueness of skies and in the warmth of summer, we remember them.”

– Sylvan Kamens & Rabbi Jack Reimer

“What we once enjoyed and deeply loved we can never lose, for all that we love deeply becomes part of us.”

– Helen Keller

“It doesn't matter who my father was; It matters who I remember he was.”

– Anne Sexton

“You see, my father taught me that even our most profound losses are survivable. And that is–it is what we do with that loss–our ability to transform it into a positive event–that is one of my father's greatest lessons.”

– Ted Kennedy, Jr.

“Only people who are capable of loving strongly can also suffer great sorrow, but this same necessity of loving serves to counteract their grief and heals them.”

– Leo Tolstoy

“If there ever comes a day when we can’t be together, keep me in your heart. I’ll stay there forever.”

– Winnie the Pooh

"A great soul serves everyone all the time. A great soul never dies. It brings us together again and again.”

– Maya Angelou

“There is no expiration date on the love between a father and his child.”

– Jennifer Williamson

“It’s so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone.”

– John Steinbeck

“When a great man dies, for years the light he leaves behind him, lies on the paths of men.”

– Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

“Say not in grief ‘he is no more’ but in thankfulness that he was.”

– Hebrew Proverb

"Every man's life ends the same way. It is only the details of how he lived and how he died that distinguish one man from another."

– Ernest Hemingway

“The heart of a father is the masterpiece of nature.”

– Antoine Francois Prevost

“Love has no age, no limit; and no death.”

– John Galsworthy

Meg is the Associate Fashion Commerce Editor at ELLE.com where she researches trends, tests products, and looks for answers to all your burning questions. She also co-writes a monthly column, Same Same But Different . Meg has previously written for Cosmopolitan and Town & Country . Her passions include travel, buffalo sauce, and sustainability. She will never stop hoping for a One Direction reunion tour.

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A Chance to Say Goodbye: Reflections on Losing a Parent

A Chance to Say Goodbye:

Reflections on losing a parent.

Available on Kindle and paperback on  Amazon ,  Barnes and Noble and Indie Bound .

Throughout the years, Lisa and her dad had a tenuous relationship. In her youth, she was disappointed and angered by his behavior, distancing herself from him and blaming him for the sudden end to their intact comfortable family life. As a young adult and after her father’s sudden heart attack, Lisa was given a second chance to heal their relationship. Over the next three decades, they became closer, enjoying time together, including travel. When her dad entered his eighties, and while still raising her own children, Lisa found herself unprepared for his steady health decline. Suddenly, she was thrust into the role of overseeing his care as he began to experience increasing disability and the beginnings of dementia.

2017 Human Relations Indie Book Awards

Gold Winner in “Aging Family” & Honorable Mention in “Life Journey”

A Chance to Say Goodbye gives rise to reflections about what is important in living and dying.

Not having prepared for or anticipated such a role, Lisa floundered as she attempted to address his ever-changing situation. The closeness and healing they had achieved was challenged as her father resisted conversations about his failing health and his care, exacerbated by a western medical system that fell short to prepare them for the end of his life.

A moving tribute to a remarkable man and a daughter’s experience of losing her dad, A Chance to Say Goodbye gives rise to reflections about what is important in living and dying.

2017 Living Now Book Awards

 Bronze Winner in “Mature Living/Aging” 

Available Online at these retailers

2017 National Indie Excellence Awards

Finalist in “Death and Dying” 

Editorial Reviews

Starred Review  “Part tribute, part memoir, part guide, A Chance to Say Goodbye succeeds on all counts, with lyrical writing and thorough research… In recounting her father’s story, Shultz enables readers to share in her loss. And she offers a wealth of practical advice on everything from writing an obituary to clearing out a house… Thought provoking and absorbing, A Chance to Say Goodbye has much to offer readers willing to confront the challenging subject of end-of-life.”  — BlueInk Review

This book can change our entire society for the better and allow everyone ‘a chance to say goodbye’ with those we love.” — Karen M. Wyatt MD, author of What Really Matters: 7 Lessons for Living from the Stories of the Dying, wrote the foreword to A Chance to Say Goodbye .

2017 Best Book Awards

Finalist in “Health: Aging/50+”

Featured in

• June 2017, Family Caregiver Support blog I wrote describing the reasons I wrote the book.
• June 2017, A Chance to Say Goodbye was featured on Book of the Week on No Shelf Required .
• June 2018, HomeWatch Caregivers featured a Q & A about caregiving.

More Praise for a Chance to Say Goodbye

“This personal narrative of a universal experience is both touching and useful. Lisa gently guides the way through navigating the death of a parent, an experience many will face but few will be prepared for. Her honesty on a difficult topic is refreshing. After reading this book, I feel more confident in facing what lies ahead.” Gwen Van Velsor, Author of Follow That Arrow

“A Chance to Say Goodbye is a book anyone who has aging parents needs to read. The experience of parenting a parent through medical, financial, and even the issues of daily living can be so frustrating and isolating. Read Lisa’s book and you’ll know you’re not alone. You’ll gain key understanding for the time when you are about to enter this phase with a parent. Insightful and beautifully written!” Gayla Wick, Author of The Art of Attracting Authentic Love

“Lisa shares a touching life experience in A Chance to Say Goodbye: Reflections on Losing a Parent. Part memoir, part historical documentary, part tutorial on aging and dying, this wonderful work does not leave anything out in preparing for the journey of losing a loved one. Her thorough research gives the reader many resources to consider and her well-chosen quotes comfort, inspire and challenge one’s spirit for the time they begin this difficult journey. Death is a natural part of Life’s progression, and Lisa helps the reader navigate this season with much tenderness and honesty.” Connie Pshigoda Author of The Wise Woman’s Almanac: A Seasonal Guide with Recipes for New Beginnings that Never Go Out of Season

“This book is deeply personal and insightful. You’re sure to gain valuable knowledge as well as important tools and resources from Lisa’s exceptional book. She offers honest emotions from her experience. I also enjoyed getting to “know” her father as a vibrant and healthy man, prior to his failing health. A must-read!” Kate Heartsong, Author of Deeply We Are One

“A Chance to Say Goodbye is a labor of love and a must-read. The author tells a heartwarming and heart-wrenching account of her relationship with her father. In today’s society, we avoid thinking of the later years in our relative’s lives. This book should remind all adult children with aging parents that they must prepare for their loved ones’ future as well as their own. Thank you, Lisa! “ Karen Owen-Lee Author of The Caring Code and The Caring Crisis, CEO and founder of Housing Options for Seniors, Inc.

“If you are in the sandwich generation, you need this book. Lisa Shultz’s honest, compassionate, and compelling exploration of her own reactions in assisting her dad to complete his life make the process of caring for and losing an aging parent unflinchingly real. The resources she discovered and shares will help you prepare to meet the inevitable challenges that arise when you assume similar responsibilities. Dr. Laurie Weiss Author of Letting It Go: Relieve Anxiety and Toxic Stress in Just a Few Minutes Using Only Words

“This is an outstanding book about Life, Death, and Caretaking. Beginning with a biography of her father, A Chance to Say Goodbye is not just a memoir, but rather sets the scene for her experiences and frustrations as her father’s caregiver at the end of his life. She gently explains her experience as daughter and supervisor of his final years. Finally, Lisa masterfully moves into ‘how to mode’ and gives a detailed blueprint of the steps each of us might follow to prevent the difficulties she experienced. A worthwhile book about a very difficult subject, it is beautifully written, interesting, and personal, moving the reader effortlessly though the frustrations of caretaking, dying, and death. After reading it, you will be grateful to Lisa Shultz for her insights on this sensitive subject.” Rhondda Hartman Award-Winning Author of Natural Childbirth Exercises for the Best Birth Ever and Natural Childbirth Exercise Essentials

“Full of resources and insights, A Chance to Say Goodbye is a helpful read for anyone navigating the journey with an aging loved one. The section on the caregiver’s own grieving process is just as helpful as how to talk to your loved one about their impending death.”  Jan Haas Author of Moving Mountains: One Woman’s Fight to Live Again

“With captivating transparency, Lisa Shultz shares fun memories, uncertainties, fears, emotions, and challenges of becoming the caregiver, watching her father slowly weaken. The insights and lessons learned will prove valuable to those being cared for as well as those involved with end-of-life matters on behalf of a loved one. The resources and questions Lisa includes will be helpful to anyone facing such decisions.”  Ted Dreier Author of Take Your Life Off Hold

“Lisa’s book is written with heartfelt openness, wisdom and thoughtfulness. She shares with us her life-long journey with her father and addresses her changing role and numerous challenges, truly bringing me a sense of peace regarding having been caretaker for my own father until his death several years ago. Lisa also gives important guidance for all of us in taking care of practical matters while we can.” L iz Sower

“Award-winning author, Lisa J. Shultz, writes a book for the times. She tackles subject matter that Baby Boomers will clearly identify. The subject of this book takes a look at the complicated relationship between father, and daughter. This because of a shared history, family relationships, and the thoughtfulness involved, when a daughter becomes, caregiver in-chief.

The story weaves family history, with the issues the caregiving child must face, to take care of a parent. What happens when the parent becomes, the child, and the child, becomes the parent? Well, Lisa, with her beautiful writing, artistry, answers the question, with detail, a heartfelt storyline, and the practical knowledge needed when you have to say Goodbye.

It is difficult to say goodbye to a parent, and in some ways, you never get over it, so this book is part self-exploration, and part a guide book to others. When the parent is gone, you are consumed by memory, by dreams, and by the practical aspects of cleaning out the house. Do you move on? Probably not. So if you are in a situation where you can identify with the subject matter, of family history, to caregiving to saying Goodbye, I highly recommend this book—“A Chance To Say Goodbye, by Lisa J. Shultz.” Rick Bava Author of In Search of the Baby Boomer Generation

Read additional reviews on Goodreads and  Amazon

Check out Best Books on End-of-Life Planning . 

Copyright © 2024 Lisa J. Shultz

Losing my Father

Personal Essay: What losing a father really means

While most people look at it as losing the head of the family and major financial support, the loss is much deeper and leaves a lasting impact

KARACHI:  Six years ago, when my father breathed his last, he was just 52. The phrase, “age is just a number,” stands very true here as no matter what age your father was when he passed away, the loss is irreparable. The world tries to console you, says things like, “all will be well,” “I understand what you are going through,” etc. But all you feel like screaming is, “NO, YOU CAN’T UNDERSTAND – unless you’ve faced a similar loss which I pray you don’t have to.” On account of Father’s Day 2021, let me tell you what it actually means to lose a father.

At first, we, as a family, could not even accept that he has left us. I used to think he is somewhere far, far away but not gone forever. I would even see him in my dreams and look for him around as I would wake up. It took days and days to acknowledge that he is not coming back. That our lives have to proceed without him. That he will no longer be a part of occasions we used to plan together for the future. And that hit differently.

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Every person who attended (or not) the funeral – family, friends, acquaintances, etc. got busy in their lives after checking up on us for a few days. It is just you at the end of the day who has to face the reality, accept it, and move on. Any person who learns about your loss would be concerned about finances, that if there is another male member in the family or not, and if the children are studying, grown-ups, settled, or what?

All thanks to the Almighty that finances were not what all we had to worry about, my brother and I are adults with a very strong mother who stood by us like a rock. Both of us were working by that time and that was enough to support the family financially. However, it is many other factors that come into play in the absence of a father. You can no longer sit back and chill while your parents take all the big decisions surrounding the house and family. You are supposed to give your input and take complete ownership of it. Your father is not around anymore to protect you under his umbrella if anything goes wrong. When the world gets harsh, you have to face it YOURSELF. When the world feels pity for you, you feel like telling them this is not what you need.

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One major change that comes in the absence of a father is taking care of your mother. After losing a father, you get extra cautious when it comes to her health and wellbeing. The slightest disturbance in her health causes fear and anxiety. And the most challenging part is making her understand why you are being paranoid about it. She would in fact feel overprotected.

Moreover, you lose a father and there are so many out there to take up the role for unsolicited advice because even though you’re doing fairly well in life without them, you are still a “kid”. Do you pay our bills? Will you be accountable if anything goes wrong after we take your advice?

Losing a father means losing that word of encouragement coming from him. That constant support system, who assures you that even if the world goes against you, he will be there. Even if you fail 100 times, he is there to pick you up. You do not have to worry about ‘ log kia kahenge ‘ as long as he has got your back.

Though we feel annoyed at our fathers’ restrictions and advice, it is these things that stay with you even when they don’t. It remains with you forever as a guide to lead your life while your father is no more with you. On Father’s Day 2021, I urge all the children to cherish the presence of their fathers  while they are around and I pray that nobody ever has to go through the loss I did.

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