This post is part two in a series.
My father was a kind, humble, and lovable person, albeit a human dynamo and indefatigable fountainhead of energy. He was someone I revered. As a boy, I thought he would defy death and live forever—I wouldn’t have to say goodbye.
Raised during the Great Depression, he cleverly adapted to scarcity, making it seem innocuous, even non-existent. Later in his life, we, his family, felt well-cared for despite our limited material and financial resources.
Dad was infinitely resourceful; he could make anything, and nothing stayed broken for long. With little more than the contents of his pant pockets, he’d work his domestic wonders, measured in everyday, around-the-house upkeep and maintenance. From plumbing and electrical to car repairs, he kept everything running smoothly.
And for our backyard entertainment, he built a small merry-go-round out of old washing machine parts and swings crafted from worn-out tires he’d found on the side of the road.
Embracing Impermanence, Permanently
Needless to say, Dad wasn’t immortal—that was my boyish, hope-filled fantasy. He was impermanent like all of us. Upon his death, to help myself climb over the Mt. Everest of my grief, I made his impermanence permanent with frequent reminiscences—practiced like religious rituals. Continuing to do so, I keep his presence near and cement access to the heartwarming details of our cherished time together, especially its high points.
As for our low points, to mitigate my regrets, I parse and heavily edit my recollections of our quarrels, conflicts, and struggles in search of their causes, meanings, and what they can teach me.
My Memory Museum
Like valuable, curated artifacts carefully preserved and displayed in a museum for the benefit of the public, I have a private collection of favorite memories safeguarded from decay in my own museum of memories. One cataloged image is of Dad at 65 years of age, who, upon seeing us arrive for a visit, leapt into the air and clicked his heels in a gesture of pure, spontaneous ebullience.
And I’ll remain inspired by Dad’s epic cycling feat—accomplished shortly after his 87th birthday—when he peddled well over 300 miles from Northern Utah, near his birthplace, into Southern Nevada. For this achievement, we awarded him a trophy with this inscription:
“This acknowledges Dad’s unflinching determination in the face of great distance, his superb physical strength, and positive attitude under conditions of prolonged physical and mental exertion.”
These and a host of recollections encourage me to emulate his zeal for life, his joie de vivre, and resolute positivity. To my good fortune, I have dad-like moments of exuberance when I feel like he must have felt—that part of him I couldn’t help but inherit as though it were genetic. But this is to be expected, after all, I studied at the “University of Dad” for the first two decades of my life.
Inspiringly, Dad made unhypocritical use of the once popular expression, “If you can’t say something positive about someone, don’t say anything at all,“ a dictum that still tempers and guides my conversations with and about others.
Dad’s Lucky Benefactor
By regularly resurrecting past conversations, images, and shared activities—especially on significant dates—I purposely choose to remain Dad‘s lucky benefactor. I revive, embrace, and breathe here-and-now life into our past conversations, speaking directly to him as if he were still physically here because he is, as long as I am. He has a permanent, well-secured place of residence in my mind, where my frequent reminiscences are like throwing another log on the fire to keep the warming memories burning brightly.
I celebrate, mostly privately but sometimes openly, the memorable highlights of his influential presence in my life, especially the impact he had on my early development. Doing so significantly eases the pain of him not being with me in the same way he once was. Dad stopped breathing, but our love for each other still “breathes” his inspiring, encouraging voice. Why should it stop?
The Value of Our Impermanence
In Homer’s epic poem, the Iliad, Achilles declared, “The gods envy us because we are mortal.“ Literary scholars have interpreted this statement to mean life has value simply by virtue of its transience, its enviable brevity imbues our existence with greater value.
Further, those who distinguished themselves by way of their contributions are venerated in part because of their impermanence. They no longer exist, that is, not in the usual way we think of existence. Their deaths ended their contributions, which are now finite, and for this reason alone, they acquire greater value. Their legacies are of limited supply and uniquely one of a kind.
Paradoxically, however, the deceased’s impermanence takes on an enriching permanence through the preservation, protection, and curation of the treasures they’ve bestowed on us.
Convincingly, our greatest personal treasure is the legacy of love left to us by those who’ve occupied the deepest recesses of our hearts and minds. These finite treasures should be protected, well-preserved, and kept in active circulation.
Never Say Goodbye
So, what might ideal grieving look like under the often-overwhelming circumstance of loss? Doubtless, there are consoling, if not healing-like, advantages to the conventional forms of grieving embedded in our social conventions: wakes, funerals, and celebrations of life. And so, these ought to remain part of a broadened definition of healthy grieving.
However, rather than treating grief like an unseemly guest overstaying their welcome, its magnitude ought to be understood as directly proportional to the strength of our love, which, in turn, supports the imperative to keep our loved ones perpetually “alive“ and thereby, post-mortally influential.
Why bid a final goodbye—which may be impossible anyway—to anyone who’s loved us, especially those who loved us most plentifully, those whose clarion, heartfelt voices still reverberate within us, albeit posthumously.
Instead, consider a “non-goodbye,” capped with a purpose-driven effort to keep our loved ones alive in a grief-reducing, life-enhancing manner by actively and perpetually embracing the best of what they‘ve bequeathed us.
Our loved ones left us a heritable entitlement. By laying claim to it, we achieve a healthy way to grieve.
