Your Dad sounds so much like my own (another doctor). The good news is that I see that spirit of really caring in many of the young doctors I know. It's no mean feat in a time of compassion fatigue and broken systems. But their compassion still shines.
My mom always told me, about raising my children, "Everything in their own time." She always believed that there was never cause for concern about what 'stage' of development a child is expected to reach at a certain age, but that they would get there when they were ready. A classic example that proved her point was when she nudged me to stop coaxing my oldest to go down a big slide at the park. He refused, over and over. We walked away, only to notice a few minutes later that he was going down the slide. It was in that moment that I knew I just had to relax and let all my kids figure out things on their own terms. She was right!
My mom lived a life of love and compassion towards everyone and was so charitable with her time, her money, her support. I strive to live that way and to encourage my children to live that way. I try to be the role model for my kids that she was for me.
Oh Susan, what a rich vein you have plumbed with this question when it comes to my poppa. He was a quiet, gentle, thought full man, an educator who taught adult learners high school chemistry and math with an energy and passion I was surprised by.
There are so many lessons from my father, but the one that always stands out for me, a perpetual worrier, was my dad saying in his quiet way, “Heather, don’t borrow tomorrow’s troubles.” Those are words that I really try to live by. They bring me comfort now that he’s crossed the veil.
Your dad sounds magnificent. Mine is still living, and I struggle with his dependence on me to coordinate various aspects of his life, now that he lives in a nursing home. But the truth is, he has taught me a great deal, with zero fanfare. Among his best lessons: refrain from judgement when you speak (what you think is your business). The ability to hold one's tongue and to speak with brevity, diplomacy, and tact has all but vanished from our culture. And my dad has that ability in spades. This silent guidance of his, which he would never take credit for, is pretty magnificent, too. Thank you for reminding me, Susan.
May love be with all! Beloveds casting light, sparkling amongst the night, blooming dawn, river prayers, flowering kiss, sweet smell of memories, cool kindred breeze of a hot summer night, Beloveds never left for there here amongst the beauty, thin place of the heavens and earth...
When I was younger I regarded my dad as cold and harsh. When I was 16 and my mother died, leaving just the two of us, he didn’t talk to me about grief, he didn’t let me grieve. He expected me to attend the 3 nights of a wake, the funeral, and then life would go on with small adjustments to routine. I thought that was cold and harsh and later I found out that WAS cold and harsh as I read the new psychology. Yes, I had to deal with buried trauma for years.
But now that I am in my 70s and I have survived so much trauma, I see the legacy, the positive legacy that he DID leave me. While I was reeling from my mother’s death, he provided me with financial security, a house I had lived in all my life, food on the table, the clothing I asked for. I never had to fear for myself physically from him. We argued and then he would apologize and try to make amends. He tried to understand when he’d had no experience of really understanding women; my mother had looked after all that while he made his way in a man’s world. But, mainly, he taught me how to survive until I could thrive.
He taught me to be strong even if at times I was being strong just to “show him” I wasn’t doing as badly as he feared. And in the end, he left me a legacy where now I know how much he cared even if he wasn’t perfect at showing it while he was alive. I love you Dad and I know you knew that at the end. Just as I know you loved me.
This post reminds me of my father's gift to me of the joy of music. He played the ukulele but knew only two songs. Still, he played them perfectly. And every time he performed them he was in utter joy. His joy was infectious when it came to music. It rubbed off. :).
Dear Susan, such a thoughtful and beautiful tribute to your Dad! Working in an ICU through COVID, I realize reading this that your father passing from COVID meant he was serving the patients he loved with bravery, selflessness, and compassion. So remarkable and special!!
Dear Susan, thank you for sharing this, your father must had been an extraordinary man.
My father also died of Covid 4 years ago. He taught me by example to always be honest, simple and true to myself. He was a quiet man as well and passed down to me his passion for knowledge and literature. And his unconditional love will always be with me.
You are fortunate to have had the father that you did, and that he was in your life until four years ago. My father died when I was 24 and I am now 72. The relationship I had with my father was uneasy. I was recalcitrant in my younger years, and, so, I hadn't shed my immaturity before he died. The only thing I really remember him teaching me and having a positive influence, was using the dictionary to look up words I didn't know the definition of when I was reading. It turned into a lifelong love of language, and, to this day, I still look up the definition of words I don't know, except now my dictionary is digital. 🙂
In the early days, my father didn't seem to have time for me, so I developed an inner world and fumbled through until I found a footing there and blossomed. Slowly, we began to (get) each other, and in my mid-20s, we started a garden center business with my mother. It was the most challenging thing I have ever done physically and emotionally. We, in time, created an incredibly successful business and our relationship began to flourish, and in time, I became his hero.
My Dad taught me that in the corporate world there is no loyalty. They will replace you in an instant. Be loyal to yourself.
My mother taught me that everyone, eventually, goes home. She gave me the first book I read from my teacher, Ram Dass. And she taught me that cooking is over rated, and a sweet potato with coconut oil and cinnamon , cup of tea, and a handful of nuts for dinner is good living.
Your Dad is quite right about the work world. So many loyal, long-term employees quit or retire, and are basically forgotten a week later, as if they never existed.
This just made me want to cry. Tears of joy that someone had an amazing father (seems they do exist), tears of sadness at your loss Susan, tears of gratitude on behalf of his students and patients that he was the epitome of a good doctor - he gave love and care, not just prescriptions, (the former have been know to heal as effectively, if not more, than medications), tears of hope that his kindness and insights will continue to inspire more people to be kind and curious.
Love this. It really speaks to me. Thank you
Your Dad sounds so much like my own (another doctor). The good news is that I see that spirit of really caring in many of the young doctors I know. It's no mean feat in a time of compassion fatigue and broken systems. But their compassion still shines.
My mom always told me, about raising my children, "Everything in their own time." She always believed that there was never cause for concern about what 'stage' of development a child is expected to reach at a certain age, but that they would get there when they were ready. A classic example that proved her point was when she nudged me to stop coaxing my oldest to go down a big slide at the park. He refused, over and over. We walked away, only to notice a few minutes later that he was going down the slide. It was in that moment that I knew I just had to relax and let all my kids figure out things on their own terms. She was right!
My mom lived a life of love and compassion towards everyone and was so charitable with her time, her money, her support. I strive to live that way and to encourage my children to live that way. I try to be the role model for my kids that she was for me.
Oh Susan, what a rich vein you have plumbed with this question when it comes to my poppa. He was a quiet, gentle, thought full man, an educator who taught adult learners high school chemistry and math with an energy and passion I was surprised by.
There are so many lessons from my father, but the one that always stands out for me, a perpetual worrier, was my dad saying in his quiet way, “Heather, don’t borrow tomorrow’s troubles.” Those are words that I really try to live by. They bring me comfort now that he’s crossed the veil.
Your dad sounds magnificent. Mine is still living, and I struggle with his dependence on me to coordinate various aspects of his life, now that he lives in a nursing home. But the truth is, he has taught me a great deal, with zero fanfare. Among his best lessons: refrain from judgement when you speak (what you think is your business). The ability to hold one's tongue and to speak with brevity, diplomacy, and tact has all but vanished from our culture. And my dad has that ability in spades. This silent guidance of his, which he would never take credit for, is pretty magnificent, too. Thank you for reminding me, Susan.
May love be with all! Beloveds casting light, sparkling amongst the night, blooming dawn, river prayers, flowering kiss, sweet smell of memories, cool kindred breeze of a hot summer night, Beloveds never left for there here amongst the beauty, thin place of the heavens and earth...
What a beautiful post and remembrance.
When I was younger I regarded my dad as cold and harsh. When I was 16 and my mother died, leaving just the two of us, he didn’t talk to me about grief, he didn’t let me grieve. He expected me to attend the 3 nights of a wake, the funeral, and then life would go on with small adjustments to routine. I thought that was cold and harsh and later I found out that WAS cold and harsh as I read the new psychology. Yes, I had to deal with buried trauma for years.
But now that I am in my 70s and I have survived so much trauma, I see the legacy, the positive legacy that he DID leave me. While I was reeling from my mother’s death, he provided me with financial security, a house I had lived in all my life, food on the table, the clothing I asked for. I never had to fear for myself physically from him. We argued and then he would apologize and try to make amends. He tried to understand when he’d had no experience of really understanding women; my mother had looked after all that while he made his way in a man’s world. But, mainly, he taught me how to survive until I could thrive.
He taught me to be strong even if at times I was being strong just to “show him” I wasn’t doing as badly as he feared. And in the end, he left me a legacy where now I know how much he cared even if he wasn’t perfect at showing it while he was alive. I love you Dad and I know you knew that at the end. Just as I know you loved me.
This post reminds me of my father's gift to me of the joy of music. He played the ukulele but knew only two songs. Still, he played them perfectly. And every time he performed them he was in utter joy. His joy was infectious when it came to music. It rubbed off. :).
Big hugs to you, Susan on this anniversary of Dad's passing. Such a wonderful tribute to him as others have said.
Go well x
Dear Susan, such a thoughtful and beautiful tribute to your Dad! Working in an ICU through COVID, I realize reading this that your father passing from COVID meant he was serving the patients he loved with bravery, selflessness, and compassion. So remarkable and special!!
Dear Susan, thank you for sharing this, your father must had been an extraordinary man.
My father also died of Covid 4 years ago. He taught me by example to always be honest, simple and true to myself. He was a quiet man as well and passed down to me his passion for knowledge and literature. And his unconditional love will always be with me.
You are fortunate to have had the father that you did, and that he was in your life until four years ago. My father died when I was 24 and I am now 72. The relationship I had with my father was uneasy. I was recalcitrant in my younger years, and, so, I hadn't shed my immaturity before he died. The only thing I really remember him teaching me and having a positive influence, was using the dictionary to look up words I didn't know the definition of when I was reading. It turned into a lifelong love of language, and, to this day, I still look up the definition of words I don't know, except now my dictionary is digital. 🙂
In the early days, my father didn't seem to have time for me, so I developed an inner world and fumbled through until I found a footing there and blossomed. Slowly, we began to (get) each other, and in my mid-20s, we started a garden center business with my mother. It was the most challenging thing I have ever done physically and emotionally. We, in time, created an incredibly successful business and our relationship began to flourish, and in time, I became his hero.
My Dad taught me that in the corporate world there is no loyalty. They will replace you in an instant. Be loyal to yourself.
My mother taught me that everyone, eventually, goes home. She gave me the first book I read from my teacher, Ram Dass. And she taught me that cooking is over rated, and a sweet potato with coconut oil and cinnamon , cup of tea, and a handful of nuts for dinner is good living.
Your Dad is quite right about the work world. So many loyal, long-term employees quit or retire, and are basically forgotten a week later, as if they never existed.
This just made me want to cry. Tears of joy that someone had an amazing father (seems they do exist), tears of sadness at your loss Susan, tears of gratitude on behalf of his students and patients that he was the epitome of a good doctor - he gave love and care, not just prescriptions, (the former have been know to heal as effectively, if not more, than medications), tears of hope that his kindness and insights will continue to inspire more people to be kind and curious.