I died and lived to tell about it. The circumstances leading me to death aren’t important. Here’s what I learned. Slowly my identify began fading away. I went from understanding where I was located in space and time. Then one-by-one, those details faded, until even saying “I” wouldn’t have made sense.
This really brings to mind a favorite passage from John Riccardo’s “Rescued” - exactly the kind of passage people often tend to consider far too sentimental, unrealistic, even somehow “unmanly”:
“My maternal grandfather abandoned his family, causing terrible pain for my mother, her siblings, and my grandmother...When my parents married, my dad knew about the tremendous weight of pain Mom carried. He knew that she felt not only the pain of abandonment by her father but also the residual effects of such pain, such as feeling unlovable unlovable and rejected, even thinking she was perhaps the cause of the abandonment. My dad knew enough about marriage to understand that God had brought him into Mom’s life as a means by which that pain could be healed. And so my father, despite all his shortcomings, lived one of the most heroic lives I’ve ever seen. He was an extraordinarily successful businessman, but he always said that the priorities in life are simply these: God, family, work. Always in that order. At one point, my dad was in negotiations to save his company, and he had out-of-town meetings every day. It would have been easier for him to stay out of town, but he didn’t. Instead, every single night, Dad flew home after exhausting meetings, woke up early in the next morning, prayed, and then got on a plane to do it all over again. He did this for over a month, and he did it for one reason: to be with my mom every night so that her abandonment wounds wouldn’t be broken open again. I could say so many things about the extraordinary love that Dad had for Mom (and vice versa) but I could never put it better than my mother did. Dad passed away a few years before Mom did, and at his funeral, Mom said something I will never forget. Everyone had been seated, except Mom and me. She was in her wheelchair, looking at my dad’s casket, and she said, to no one but Dad, “Honey, because of you, I know who God is.” “
I could well be wrong, but I think kids can tell the difference between the dad who works long hours out of sacrificial love, to keep food in their mouths, and the workaholic dad who just isn’t present for his family. I’ve known so many adult friends awed by the sacrifices their dad made for their family (3 jobs to send them to a good school, etc). The only adults I’ve know to be mad at adult dads were from wealthy families where clearly the dad could have retired/cut back but frankly preferred the office to the home.
Anyway, thank you for the great reflection - your non political substacks are much appreciated! (Nothing wrong with the political ones, but this is what matters most)
This really brings to mind a favorite passage from John Riccardo’s “Rescued” - exactly the kind of passage people often tend to consider far too sentimental, unrealistic, even somehow “unmanly”:
“My maternal grandfather abandoned his family, causing terrible pain for my mother, her siblings, and my grandmother...When my parents married, my dad knew about the tremendous weight of pain Mom carried. He knew that she felt not only the pain of abandonment by her father but also the residual effects of such pain, such as feeling unlovable unlovable and rejected, even thinking she was perhaps the cause of the abandonment. My dad knew enough about marriage to understand that God had brought him into Mom’s life as a means by which that pain could be healed. And so my father, despite all his shortcomings, lived one of the most heroic lives I’ve ever seen. He was an extraordinarily successful businessman, but he always said that the priorities in life are simply these: God, family, work. Always in that order. At one point, my dad was in negotiations to save his company, and he had out-of-town meetings every day. It would have been easier for him to stay out of town, but he didn’t. Instead, every single night, Dad flew home after exhausting meetings, woke up early in the next morning, prayed, and then got on a plane to do it all over again. He did this for over a month, and he did it for one reason: to be with my mom every night so that her abandonment wounds wouldn’t be broken open again. I could say so many things about the extraordinary love that Dad had for Mom (and vice versa) but I could never put it better than my mother did. Dad passed away a few years before Mom did, and at his funeral, Mom said something I will never forget. Everyone had been seated, except Mom and me. She was in her wheelchair, looking at my dad’s casket, and she said, to no one but Dad, “Honey, because of you, I know who God is.” “
I could well be wrong, but I think kids can tell the difference between the dad who works long hours out of sacrificial love, to keep food in their mouths, and the workaholic dad who just isn’t present for his family. I’ve known so many adult friends awed by the sacrifices their dad made for their family (3 jobs to send them to a good school, etc). The only adults I’ve know to be mad at adult dads were from wealthy families where clearly the dad could have retired/cut back but frankly preferred the office to the home.
Anyway, thank you for the great reflection - your non political substacks are much appreciated! (Nothing wrong with the political ones, but this is what matters most)
Some dads did their families a favor and stayed away. Happens. Fortunately, not for me. Jus' sayin'.
This hit way too close to home for us and moved my wife and I to tears. Thank you for having the courage and grace to share.
Very Sweet.
Jung said it best: "The most terrifying thing is to know oneself completely." Welcome to the club, Mike.
Wow. Thanks for this.
Thank you Mike. This hit me and made me realize many similarities I’ve had as well.
I love real writing. Thank you.