Forged in Fire

This is a topic that I’ve intentionally strayed away from. Though I’ve alluded to it a time or two, never have I expounded upon my own experiences within the matter. 

Recently, however, I was gifted a book by a colleague of mine titled “Fatherloss” by Neal Chetnik. The 312 page piece dives head-first into the wide range of reactions that occur within various age groups of men with the passing of their father.

I will refrain from providing an entire synopsis of the book, but urge you to check it out via the link above. 

Instead, I’d like to take on an opportunity to dish out some thoughts that have come to the surface and realizations that I have come to throughout the process of reading Chetnik’s writing. 

My father died at the age of forty-two. Many years of wear and tear on his body by way of substance abuse came crashing down on December 2nd, 2017 – I was eighteen years old, and in my first semester of college. 

Now six years removed, I’ve been given ample time to compartmentalize the loss, along with the events leading up to and proceeding his death. 

Of the many things I’ve come to understand and gained from such a traumatic experience, the most poignant is actually something quite simple: the ability to forgive.

Admittedly, my relationship with my father was fractured at best. Particularly at the time of his death, I held some fairly substantial grievances with his actions. To put it bluntly – I had a real hatred in my heart for the ways in which I felt he had wronged me, my mother and my younger sister. 

This, I now realize, did me no favors in the years immediately following his death. 

Because of the nature of how he passed on, there was no opportunity for closure. No final conversation. No ability to clear things up and, ultimately, no idea of what could’ve come of our relationship as I progressed into adulthood.

In processing it all, I was forced to come to grips with the fact that I’d only have known him from a child’s perspective. And – while such a perspective was tainted with various life events that stood out as “less-than-ideal,” and lacking certain “father-son” memories and lessons, I knew there would come a day where I would long for such a “father-son” relationship as an adult. 

Sure enough, those moments did come. In droves. They still do, from time to time. 

A quote from “Fatherloss,” which sums up such feelings:

“The thing I miss the most is not ever having been man-to-man with my father. I’d like to be able to go for a meal with him or go to a ball game as a couple of adults. I don’t really need anything from him anymore. I just wish he would know me now.”

It’s true. Those things do take up some headspace every now and again. But – perhaps more importantly, as previously mentioned, is the forgiveness I’ve found within myself and the way it has manifested into my own role as a husband and father.

Another tidbit from the aforementioned Chetnik writing is that many men whom he’d interviewed stated that the loss of their father made them particularly grateful for the gifts in their adult lives, specifically their own families. 

Boy, does this hit the nail on the head.

Despite the many hardships I faced due to the loss of my father at a young age, and the whirlwind I found myself in the days, months and years that came thereafter, I’ve gained the insights necessary to forgive him for any wrongdoings that had transpired in my childhood. 

Such a forgiveness has opened me up to, just as many others would state, pour so much more into my own children. To take on a lens of introspection and to move forward with the understanding that all that lead up to the ultimate death of my father in his early forties is completely out of my control and, at this point, water under the bridge. It has come and it is gone.

What isn’t gone however is the life that I get to live with my own family. The memories that I get to share. The lessons I get to teach. The warmth that I get to experience by and through their love. What is better than that?

The death of a father is excruciatingly difficult. Whether your relationship with them is secure as can be or you find yourself at-odds with them in their final moments, it carries a heavy weight. 

A piece of who you are is gone, forever. 

There is no proper or textbook response, and we’re all sure to flounder for at least a bit of time. 

That said, I’m here to say that there is beauty to be found on the flip-side of the suffering. The mourning may never pass entirely, and likely should not, but the goodness awaiting you in this life is worth the leg-work it takes to press onward. 

Just as I pray for my own children, I hope that you do the same for yours – that you will fill them up in the time you are given by their side. 

The role of a father is no small task. One that is sometimes not fully realized until you lose your own.

Forge on. 

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