When a Parent Dies and “Then” You Thrive

Introduction

I’ve been there. You must stay forward, as the option is not nearly as promising.

Since I was a child, my parents were my biggest supporters. When I was in junior high school, my English teacher threatened to fail me. That “F” on my report card would not only have led to me repeating the 8th grade, but would have postponed my entry into high school by a year, forever marking me, I believed, as ‘the oldest freshman in the universe.’

I so didn’t want to be that guy.

My parents and I visited my junior high teacher one night after hours. She explained that my reading comprehension levels were “unacceptably low” and that she could not in good conscience promote me. She then told them she suspected I had a “learning disability.”

After some back and forth, my dad made her an offer. He explained that at home I was an avid reader of comic books and monster magazines, and I was bored with the material presented in class. I should be able to read a book of my choosing, he offered, and write a report based on that.

“I believe in my son,” he said.

To my teacher’s credit, she made the deal. I read Shirley Jackson’s “The Haunting of Hill House,” and proceeded to get an “A+” on my book report. My teacher’s note on the front page of the report, which I’ve kept, made my day: Joel, you are full of surprises. Best of luck in high school. P.S. You may want to smile some more.

I was miserable in class because I was beginning to get the writing itch at that early age, and yet surely no one would take me seriously as my grades were so poor. My dad was right. I was bored.

Most of all, I’ll never forget him telling me this: “Your report really is excellent. You may want to consider being a writer one day.”

Dad and my mom were my biggest supporters. He died just before my first novel was published nearly 40 years later.

He only saw the struggle. But once he was gone … his greatest dreams were finally realized.

Death, and Then …

My sister-in-law gave birth to the first girl in the family. My dad always wanted a girl in the family, and had expressed a desire to build a doll house years before he became ill … “just in case.”

Two (so far) of my nephews had Bar-Mitzvahs, and have worked with disadvantaged kids.

My mom made many new friends in Florida.

I sold my first novel, and that novel became an ongoing series.

I sold my first TV show, and then I sold more TV shows.

I sold a piece to my first literary journal.

I became a full member of the WGA (Writers Guild of America), the union I tried to get into for years.

My wife and I adopted a rescue dog, who was weeks if not days away from being euthanized. (There is a personal reason, that I will share at another time, why this point is something my dad would have applauded.)

It is close to a decade since my dad’s been gone. I think about him every single day, and still cry when the mood hits. I’ve been lucky, though. I’ve been close to my family from the beginning and the fact that I still get emotional over my father is validation of my fortune. My mom travels a good deal and is a bit of a daredevil. My two brothers have fantastic kids. My wife is doing well and I’m the uncle to three nephews and a niece. I have a career that continues to move forward.

When I mention “achievements,” I refer to two things: 1) those of myself and my family, and 2) accomplishments that were not necessarily goal-related. He would have been proud of us all.

Advice From One Who’s Been There

If you stop advancing, in either or both your personal life or career, consider how your deceased parent would feel. Pointedly, if they supported you throughout your life, would they be disappointed?

The same question, but look at yourself 20, 30 or 40 years from now. You stopped when you were making so much progress. How did your life turn out? What could have been different if you kept going?

Ask yourself, “What makes me happy?” Do you find a release in your job, or your career? Do you find that you are least stressful when you spend time with your family? Identify your happy place(s) and follow the path(s).

Cry, and cry hard if you have to. When my dad passed I put on a bold front, but I was frozen. I could barely write; I felt guilty if I went out and enjoyed myself. I always felt better after a good cry. My best advice is to release your grief whenever you need to, then try to move on with your day. You may be surprised at the power of a good, freeing cry.

Milestones are particularly tough. Births, anniversaries, graduations … I came to a realization long ago that only my family would understand and appreciate my emotions when it came to my dad. Share your favorite memories with them during the time of family milestones. You may tear, but you may well smile in remembrance alongside those others who knew the parent best.

For every achievement, acknowledge the deceased parent if you can. When I have a new book released, I do so in the “Acknowledgements” section. For a film or TV show, I may list my dad in a credit. For a wedding, leave an empty chair at the main table.

There is no “one size fits all,” or single method that works for everyone when it comes to grieving parallel to achievement. Life is for the living, and achievements both large and small will and should continue for as long as we are breathing.

So why waste energy sabotaging yourself?

Thank you for reading.

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