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Eulogy to Another Great Dad

boys1979About five years ago, one of the earliest readers of this blog was generous enough to share the life story of his beloved father, who had recently died before his time. I called the post Eulogy to a Great Dad. It was one of my favorite stories, because it was apparent through his son’s words that this man had really devoted his life to being a good father and a good person in general.

Dad stories are also particularly meaningful to me because it’s my own primary mission in life right now. My main motivation for retiring early was a desire to put that role as the top thing in my life. At age 30, I set aside 20 years for this project with a goal of being cool, understanding and infinitely supportive to any kids I might have, with anything else coming a distant second. Now eleven years into that project, it remains the one thing in my current life that I manage to stick to without any compromise, and thus without any regret.

Lots of this was inspired by warm memories from my own upbringing. Our entire family, while not the glamorous and self-actualized group of perfect humans they used to make TV shows about, was still way up there on the happy outcomes scale. My Dad was a big part of that, always thoughtful and non-judgemental, encouraging learning and healthy behavior and frugal living through his presence in the household. Although my parents ended up separating in the early 1990s, they finished most of the hard work of raising us four kids first, and I know how much work that must have been.

The highlights of this father-and-son relationship revolve around music, writing, learning and travel. My Dad had been a musical semi-genius since birth, and as a result our childhood came with free impromptu concerts every day. He was always disappearing to play some badass jazz piano on the glossy black 1974 Yamaha upright, or picking effortlessly on the acoustic guitar, occasionally throwing in formal or silly lyrics with his fine tenor voice. In the 1980s, he let me move the family stereo system permanently into my bedroom to nurture my own budding love of Music All The Time. All four of his kids now place music at the top of their list of favorite things in life.

In 1983 he reached the age of 40, and bought a red and black Kawasaki motorcycle, joking it was a frugal way to address a midlife crisis. I was 9 years old at the time, and that summer we embarked on a long roadtrip down to Kentucky – just the two of us, with just some saddle bags full of clothes and picnic supplies. I still remember every detail of that trip – the thrill of highway travel with the asphalt rushing just below your feet, the novelty of crossing the US border and the stern nature of the officer who questioned us, the steep winding road to the Best Western hotel on a panoramic hilltop, and a week of spelunking and guided tours in the wild underground world of Mammoth Cave National park. Decades later, we would both still cite that Father and Son Adventure of Questionable Safety as one of the highlights of both of our lives.

Eventually all of us kids grew up, and our relationships remained loving and open. We’re oddballs in the sense that we don’t tend to remember each other’s birthdays, or remember to make the right phone calls or send the right greeting cards, but once reunited we resume the deepest and most interesting conversations as if we had never left the room a year earlier.

Starting this blog in 2011 brought an unexpected boost in my friendship with my dad, as he was one of the first subscribers and continued to read every article as they came out. He would often send me his thoughts on posts he enjoyed – searching my email reveals at least 50 such emails, with titles like “Latest MMM” or “Current Column.” He even participated occasionally in the writing, once sharing this post about frugal shaving, and another time interacting playfully in the comments section with my sister as if they were not related. Like me, he connected more deeply with people through writing and his own career was as a writer of advertising, editorials, books, and articles.

I learned a lot from Dad, and he claimed to learn a few things as he watched me grow into adulthood as well. Noticing the heavy emotional burden that negative thoughts would place on my life as early as high school, I deliberately became an optimist instead, reading self-development books and experimentally applying their principles to the world. The stuff actually worked, and he noted the ongoing benefits of what I called Outrageous Optimism, as he watched things happen in my life that he had formerly assumed were not possible. He decided he should work a bit more on optimism as well.

During university, he let me move into the spare bedroom in his apartment which was near the campus, and I enjoyed teaching him weight training and physical fitness while he taught me about stock investing and jazz piano chords. Those two years of being adult roommates were a valuable finish to my time of growing up as his son.

It was a good thing that all these good things happened during our lives together, because in October of 2016, he started having some difficulties with certain words, prompting his caring wife to start keeping track of unusual occurrences in a dated journal. His appetite shrank a little, and he lost a few pounds from his already-slim frame.

One day, in a slow-motion piece of cinematic tragedy, his wedding ring slid off of a narrowing ring finger as he walked through a parking lot, and it turned out to be lost forever, like the growing number of words he could no longer quite bring to mind.

He checked into a hospital, where they scanned his head and found that a dark mass had formed within.

When I went back to Canada to visit him in that hospital, I could hardly believe he was sick. He looked just fine – same alert eyes set in friendly wrinkles, the same compact and upright body, and the same familiar voice. But he was also significantly different – focused oddly on the present and with very little concept of the future.  He was able to understand advanced conversations and free from worry, but with quite a bit of difficulty expressing concepts or figuring out how to find his place in a book.

The problem was a rare but incredibly tough form of brain tumor called Glioblastoma. Affecting people seemingly at random, this type of cancer builds itself into a lump in your head that grows very rapidly, crowding out the blood circulation that allows your normal thought processes to take place. Patients of this form of cancer live only a few months to a couple of years, depending on whether or not you can slow it down with surgery and radiation.

These last few months were tough, as this brilliant, witty man faded quickly to become a confused, sleepy person with limited speech and recognition, who then faded purely to sleep. His last systems finally shut down on the evening of January 13th, thankfully in an extremely peaceful hospice with loved ones nearby.

We’re all sad, of course, but also much more grateful than I would have imagined. Although cut short by a decade or two, our Dad’s life overall was one of a lucky person. Like the first Great Dad at the start of this article, Dad’s four children and the loving wife that survives him have great respect for the way he lived, and his six grandchildren will have only fond memories of a man of readily offered kindness.

For my part, his sudden passing has shaken up my life. Originally shocked and depressed to hear what was happening to him, I eventually passed on to accept reality, and also become much more aware of what mortality really means. I’ve lived a long time already, and it has been quite an experience. But it really could end at any moment, and even if I evade disaster, the odds say I’ve used up a full 50% of my lifespan.

Perhaps even more notably, I’m suddenly on the tipping point between the labels “young guy” and “middle-aged man.” I’ve been a young adult forever, and this is the first time in life I’ve realized that stage can actually end. This means that it would be foolish for me to waste any of it, and I am suddenly much more hesitant to let any days go to waste.

If you found out this evening that you only had one month to live, imagine how deeply you would crave that warm carefree phase of your life that came just before – when the supply of healthy days seemed unlimited and you could do anything. That unlimited supply of life, which you took for granted and wasted on unnecessary arguments and commuting and television, would suddenly seem like the most precious and unattainable luxury in the world.

I realized that for now, I am still in that happy, carefree summer of unlimited life. I still have the luxury that my Dad lost so suddenly, and holy shit do I feel lucky to have it now. So I’m going to get up and enjoy a lot more good times while this sun shines.

Grandpa MM with son baby MMM, circa 1975.

Grandpa MM with son baby MMM, circa 1975.

Afterword:

Beyond the living descendants and many memories in everyone he knew, my Dad left behind plenty of written words and even some music. We found his little digital studio recorder sitting on top of that same black Yamaha piano, which still sits in the house where his wife now lives, newly alone. The memory card contained five beautiful little songs he had been working on recently, and they captured his memory for me above all other mementos.

I can hear his soul perfectly in the timing of every one of these notes, and see his hands, still infinitely nimble after 73 years, hitting the black and white keys as they flew across the piano, powered by a mind that had thought in terms of music since 1943.

I have uploaded a copy here just in case you want to put on some headphones and play it for yourself. These songs didn’t have names, but my sister decided this one can be called “Stars”

 

Rest in peace, Dad – we will all do our best to live on and live well, in your honor.

 

  • Sonya January 18, 2017, 5:28 pm

    I’m sorry for the loss of your father. My dad also died of this disease. To be with him at the end of his life, when he became more childlike, was one of my great treasures. Thanks for bringing all of yourself to this work. Much love & respect.

  • The Vigilante January 18, 2017, 5:40 pm

    Sorry to hear this news. If it’s any comfort, Little MM has a great role model and is lucky to have a dad like you, just like you were in turn lucky to have yours!

    Also, his comment with your sister is great, and it’s awesome that that will always be there for you to laugh about!

    Also also, tomorrow happens to be my dad’s birthday, so thank you for the reminder to appreciate it while I can!

  • Aaron January 18, 2017, 6:11 pm

    Beautiful post and reminder of how to live. Thank you. Gorgeous music from your dad. Deeply appreciated. My condolences to you and your family.

  • JessicaD January 18, 2017, 6:11 pm

    I’m so sorry for your loss. What a beautiful tribute to your dad and what wonderful memories you were able to make with him. A tribute to him that you’re able to dedicate the same time (and more?) to making memories with your young family. My thoughts are with you – Jessica

  • Warren January 18, 2017, 6:16 pm

    Very touching tribute. I’ve never posted here before, but I’ve been following your blog for a few months now. I’m a little closer to your Dad’s age than yours, and I lost both my parents years ago. Now my brother has Dementia and lives in a home, so I understand the frustration you felt.
    That was a lovely piano piece you posted. In an earlier life, I majored in music and I can tell your Father had a very good understanding of music theory! Please, post the other recording he left behind. I’d love to hear them!

  • Davd January 18, 2017, 6:16 pm

    Sorry for your loss. I also lost my dad also on a Friday the 13th many years ago. It still hurts.

  • Val January 18, 2017, 6:17 pm

    Thank you for sharing the beautiful story of your dad and your life with him. I’m so sorry for your loss.

  • Jackie January 18, 2017, 6:24 pm

    I am so sorry to hear about your dad. The music is lovely, your memories…your memories, you are so lucky to have those memories.

  • Jamie January 18, 2017, 6:26 pm

    My sympathies. From what you have written I hope to be half as good of a father to my son as he was to you.

  • Max January 18, 2017, 6:29 pm

    This is a beautifully written eulogy. My condolences to you and your family

  • Mona January 18, 2017, 6:34 pm

    My condolences to you and your entire family. This was a wonderful tribute to read. What a treasure for you to have found his music to comfort you now and well into the future. Thank you for sharing his talent. Peace to you all.

  • Javi Vaca January 18, 2017, 6:49 pm

    Very sorry about your loss, Pete. Fo rsome reason what you shared mad made me think of this other man: President of a country, living like a peasant and defending a society where people only use what they need -and use the time to do what makes them happy.

    You can call him a Moustachian president.

    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hteGnL-8SeU

  • wendy January 18, 2017, 6:52 pm

    Pete, what a lovely and poignant tribute to your dad.
    Thank you sharing a reminder to be present in our lives.
    Best wishes to your whole family as they mourn and celebrate your Dad… his music made a lovely coda

  • Prudence Debtfree January 18, 2017, 6:54 pm

    I am very sorry for you loss, and grateful for your willingness to share, in the sober light of mortality, the importance of loving relationships and living fully. Your son is as lucky to have you as you have been to have your father. God bless you.

  • Steve January 18, 2017, 7:00 pm

    Pete sorry for your loss. Touching tribute and I’m sure your dad was quite proud of you.

  • Tim Koerner January 18, 2017, 7:06 pm

    Beautifully written. RIP to your dad and condolences to you. Definitely going to give my dad a buzz tomorrow. Thanks MMM.

  • VintageTrish January 18, 2017, 7:19 pm

    A beautiful tribute to your father Pete. Glioblastoma is a serious brain cancer which affects all ages. We found this out when my four year old niece was diagnosed with glioblastoma multiform and passed away four years ago after a nine month fight and 29 procedures to save her. Ironically her anniversary is on January 11, just a few days before your dad’s. It’s a raw feeling, but we now volunteer our time for the foundation my sister and brother in law set up in Niamh’s memory – helping families of young children in the same situation. All my very best to you and your family in this new chapter of life. On a brighter note I have enjoyed your website and newsletter since the start, but never commented till now–moustachian manners in place, I will try to do so more often in future.

  • Margaret January 18, 2017, 7:25 pm

    I’ve never commented before, but have been reading and enjoying your work for a long time. I just wanted to say how sorry I am for your loss, and how beautiful a tribute this is to your dad. I found it very touching, both as a daughter and as a new mom. Wishing you and your family peace during this difficult time.

  • Peter Perlygates January 18, 2017, 7:39 pm

    First, thank you for sharing such a personal story. I am sorry for your loss. I am glad to read the great memories and legacy that your father has left. He must be so proud of his son (you. MMM). Your son is very lucky to have you as his father, as well.
    I am Canadian.
    Mr Gord Downie (Tragically Hip) is going through the same brain cancer as your father. I hope this cancer can be eradicated.
    Soon.
    Peace be with you.
    ((Canadian hugs))
    Peter Perlygates

  • ATLien_Si January 18, 2017, 7:43 pm

    My condolences to you and your family. Thank you so much for sharing your story. It is without a doubt a reminder of our mortality, definitely giving my dad a call tonight to tell him I love him.

  • Larry January 18, 2017, 7:45 pm

    So sorry for your loss. Your father had a life well-lived. I hope I have given my own daughter the type of wonderful memories that you have of your dad. A good time to reflect on important things, not the importance of things.

    Thanks very much for sharing.

  • Marialicia January 18, 2017, 7:47 pm

    Thank you SO much for sharing your heart & family news here. I’m so sorry for your loss. What beautiful music your father made! Gratitude abounds…. <3

    Many blessings to your family as you embark on the journey of this next season of time. Thanks for the reminder to embrace, embrace, embrace….!

  • Jason January 18, 2017, 7:49 pm

    My deepest condolences to your family. Your dad sounds like a great man and that you guys had a great relationship, which is the most important. Perhaps the greatest legacy any of us can leave to this earth is living well for our loved ones who have passed. If that is the case then a legacy you do have.

  • Christine H January 18, 2017, 7:50 pm

    What a beautiful tribute to a man who obviously was a success at being both a father and a human. His music is moving. Thank you for sharing. Best to your family.

  • jose luis quintero January 18, 2017, 8:00 pm

    Precioso !Me conmovió hasta las lágrimas: el artículo, la música y tu reacción ante la pérdida. “De tal palo tal astilla”- Gracias. Abrazo,

  • Ashley January 18, 2017, 8:16 pm

    I’ve been following your blog for a year and tonight’s post was serendipitous – today marks 8 years that my own dad was taken at the young age of 59 by grade III glioma. He was a role model of unconditional love, unlimited generosity to family and strangers alike, and a fantastic sense of humor. Thank you for sharing the story of your dad so eloquently.

  • Seth Geltman January 18, 2017, 8:19 pm

    I’m so sorry to hear of your loss. That’s a beautiful tribute. And what a wonderful, warm sense of the man I get through his music.

    As I remember, your father passed on ‘The Magic of Thinking Big’ to you, and, through your blog, you passed on that gem of a book to me. Thanks to both of you.

    I can’t imagine how much joy you gave your father. Take care.

  • Butch Whitehoue January 18, 2017, 8:25 pm

    So very sorry for you and your families loss. A very well written touching tribute to your father. My mom is 76 and the reality of what lies ahead(somday far in the future we hope) is made more real by your loss. Your words ring true and the time you have been able to devote to your own children by virtue of being MMM is a direction more people should seek. Condolences.

  • Jack January 18, 2017, 8:26 pm

    So sorry for your loss, Mr. Mustache. I’m sure your Dad was very proud of all you’ve done for your family and community.

  • Christine January 18, 2017, 8:44 pm

    My Dad was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer last year, 2 months after retiring at 68. Only 2 months after that, he was gone.

    From a young age, he taught me to work and save for things that were important to me. In middle school I remember going with him to the bank to open my first passbook savings account. Later he encouraged me to have a garage sale to pay for my first 10-speed bike. Before I was old enough to get a part-time job at the mall, I delivered newspapers and babysat for the neighbors’ kids.

    I worked and saved, went to college, and worked and saved some more. When my husband and I bought our first house, we chose one we could afford on one income. It was the first big step on our path to financial independence.

    Neither my husband nor I is an entrepreneur, and we didn’t work on Wall Street or in Silicon Valley. We went to a state university and got engineering degrees. We both shifted careers early to land better paying jobs we liked more. We put our savings in very average 401(k)’s, mutual funds, and interest bearing savings accounts.

    The values my dad instilled in me, some good luck, and the decisions my husband and I made over the last 20 years enabled us to retire in our early 40’s. Now every day is Saturday. I’m no longer counting down to our next vacation in business trips and nights away from home. I wish my dad was here to share it with us. Life goes on.

  • Giovanni January 18, 2017, 8:44 pm

    Sorry for your loss, thank you for sharing the wonderful story of you and your dad lives together. My son is the best thing to ever happen to me so your choosing to send your son’s early years together with him is a very powerful thing. Love your dad’s Stars as well!

  • Robin January 18, 2017, 8:45 pm

    I’m sorry, Pete. It’s hard to lose a parent. Thanks for sharing him with us. He sounds like a great guy and his song is beautiful.

  • EJ January 18, 2017, 8:53 pm

    What a beautiful post. So sorry for your loss.

  • kindoflost January 18, 2017, 8:55 pm

    I am a grown man (if I count my years) and can’t imagine my life without my parents, so I imagine how much it must hurt. Very sorry for your loss. Thanks for sharing.

  • Don January 18, 2017, 8:56 pm

    Beautiful music…..

  • Craig C January 18, 2017, 9:19 pm

    I’m very sorry for your loss, Pete. My uncle passed away almost three years ago (age 69) from the exact same thing (glioblastoma), and it sounds like your father followed the same path and progression.

    I know that no words can make you feel any better right now, but be thankful that although a terrible disease, at least it’s a pretty peaceful and painless one, unlike many others. Your father sounds like he really was a great guy (and obviously talented!). Cherish the memories and continue making great new ones of your own with your own family.

    Take care,

    Craig

  • Sandee January 18, 2017, 9:24 pm

    I’m so sorry for your loss. My father was also a musician and everytime I hear a tape of his music, it brings back memories. May you always have happy memories.

  • Liz January 18, 2017, 9:30 pm

    Wowza. Thank you for sharing, and with such eloquence. I feel for you and your siblings very deeply.

    By way of relating, my dad gave me that phone call back in 2008, when I was 24, to let me know masses had been found in his lungs. I left grad school to be with him and help him out until we needed the helping hands of hospice. He passed away on All Saints Day 2009, and left me enough of a financial gift that, along with stumbling across your blog several years later, I’m now on my way to FI. It took me several years (well, it’s still a struggle) to move past guilt at having come into finances I didn’t do anything for. But I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, Dad would be proud I’m not squandering it, but in fact, attempting the opposite.

    Cheers. You’ve got many friends out here.

  • Dawn January 18, 2017, 9:48 pm

    Pete,
    My condolences to you and your family. I too lost my father 6 months ago. I’m not nearly as articulate or talented in writing beautifully as you, so I’ll just say that I understand. As I entered these unchartered waters of grief, I relied on my old habit to educate myself with books. One I found helpful was, “On Grief and Grieving,” by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, M.D. Other takeaways I continue to learn: 1. Be gentle and kind with thyself 2. Everyone grieves differently 3. There are no shortcuts 4. The path of healing isn’t linear 5. As one of the other comments said, there are gifts that come from the loss too. It seems you already know this.

    I was told early on that I’d be forever changed, but it would get better. And so it does bit by bit. You’ve taught me so much, for which I thank you. I hope in some small way these thoughts can return the favor. Wishing you time, comfort, and peace.

  • Misti Okerlund January 18, 2017, 9:48 pm

    I am so sorry for your loss, MMM. I can relate because my dad committed suicide two months ago. Wishing you comfort and peace as you grieve the loss of your father.

  • Arthur Guerrero January 18, 2017, 10:01 pm

    Hang in there MMM.

    My grandma passed away last night…She had a great long life full of experiences though (78 years old).

    RIP to your dad & my grandma

  • Felix January 18, 2017, 10:05 pm

    Sorry for your loss Pete. I can’t even find the words to express my gratitude for what your philosophy has done for me, and I wish you all the best.

  • JC January 18, 2017, 10:07 pm

    MMM – Sorry for your loss, and thanks for sharing the memories of your Dad – and that rad piano piece he wrote. You’re fortunate to have been raised by such a great man. I’m not looking forward to the day I have to cross that bridge. Have to enjoy and appreciate every minute… Best to you and your family.

  • Marwan January 18, 2017, 10:28 pm

    I found this incredibly touching and motivating. Thank you for sharing.

  • Greg G January 18, 2017, 10:34 pm

    Your father was a good man who clearly instilled good values in you. I’m sure he was very proud of you. I enjoy nothing more than spending time with my two boys and my wife. Nothing else compares. Thanks for sharing and let’s remember to live every day like it’s the last.

  • Jon & Helen January 18, 2017, 10:58 pm

    Pete, we are so sorry for your loss. Thank you for sharing your beautiful eulogy. Sending big hugs to you and your family.

  • Jillian January 18, 2017, 11:13 pm

    What a beauty your dad was. Easy to see how he nurtured the free thinker in you an your siblings. I just love the image of you and your dad on your Father and Son Adventure of Questionable Safety. He knew what was important and taught you well. Thanks for sharing this. I really love seeing the roots of some of your thinking and life choices. He just sounds like a hella great guy and dad.

  • The Professor January 18, 2017, 11:18 pm

    My condolences on you and your family’s loss. Cherish those memories and continue to use them for inspiration on day to day living. I lost my Mom this past fall and my Dad a few years ago to cancer also. We live on opposite coasts and the one thing I miss the most was being able to pick up the phone and have good conversations with either of them.

    When I was first about to become a dad I asked a friend what it was like. He replied: “It makes you a better person, not better than any other person but a better person.” I’ll never forget that quote. Being a dad has made me a better, more caring person in this world. Thank you for sharing your close personal story and again I am sorry for your loss.

  • Annie January 18, 2017, 11:27 pm

    Deep condolences. Sounds like a wonderful father. Thank you for sharing so much.

  • Julard January 18, 2017, 11:28 pm

    A beautiful eulogy and beautiful music to finish. I’m sorry for your loss, your father sounds like a very special man.

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