Today marks one year since my unexpected triple bypass surgery.
As is often the case, such anniversaries can be quite poignant and powerful, almost as if one’s entire being – body, mind, heart, and soul – are collectively recalling the event.
I am grateful that I had, both the time and presence of mind, to sit with my wife and two daughters individually the day before. I remember being in the hospital room with each of them and saying, “I have every intention of coming through this surgery, but if for some reason I don’t, let’s not leave any necessary conversations between us unsaid.”
Then, in each subsequent conversation we were able to share with one another our fears, our gratitude, and express our deep love for one another. I was able to articulate those aspects that I so admire and treasure – those things that make each one of them uniquely who they are. And I was able to express my hopes and wishes for them and their families, regardless of the outcome of the surgery.
If I have one piece of reflective advice to give it would be leave no necessary conversation unsaid.
Don’t wait for an “event” to have such conversations with those you love. Do it now, and I assure you that it will have an exponential positive and restorative impact than if you wait.
Now, if you’ll indulge me, it would be helpful for me to mark this milestone by sharing some excerpts from the letter I wrote to my family the night before the surgery, one year ago. To be transparent, I am not even sure why I feel compelled to post them. Perhaps it’s to “memorialize” them, perhaps to serve as an encouragement to someone, or perhaps for some other primal reason that I’m yet unable to articulate.
Either way, this is how I wish to “celebrate” and mark this strange anniversary.
An excerpt from what I wrote to my wife, Sheryl:
“Well, this sucks! Sheryl my luv, if you’re reading this, it means that the surgery didn’t go well and that for which we had together hoped and planned, has changed.”
“I hope you have sensed my heart and soul over the years being committed to loving you the best way I knew how – hoping that the laughter was greater than the tears, that the experiences we shared continually strengthened who we were together.”
“On our honeymoon we committed to one another to enjoy every season of life on its own terms, not lamenting the past or living so far in the future that we missed the present. This means we cried a lot – both happy and heartbroken tears, but we did the better things even more – like laugh, be overwhelmed by awe and wonder at the various marvels of our world we were privileged to see, jumped to our feet cheering our favorite soccer team, or applauding a theatre company after a particularly moving performance. We sang along with, and occasionally danced to, many of our favorite musicians and bands (Barry still had it!), and hurt together with, and for one another at various times of our life. We’ve experienced the beauty of true friendships in an increasingly shallow culture and work that had purpose and meaning beyond a paycheck.”
“I’m eternally grateful that I experienced what it means to be us – you and me – in all its beautiful, messy, glory.”
An excerpt from what I wrote to my mother:
“I’m so sorry. No parent should have to say good-bye to one child, let alone two AND their spouse in their lifetime. So, for the hurt and loss this has caused you, I am so sorry. Thank you doesn’t even begin to cover it. You and dad did so well for us kids. The opportunities you created, the fundamental posture of adventure that you modeled, the spirit of sacrifice for family you embodied, and a more progressive way to understand the world; all were critical in pointing me to a life of service – that is you and your influence, and I want to thank you.”
An excerpt from what I wrote to my daughters, Kyssa and Teryn:
“Please know that I did my best to be a good father. I know I wasn’t the best, but I also know I wasn’t the worst. No matter what, please know beyond any shadow of doubt how much I love the two of you. There is truly not a thing you could do to make me stop loving you. That was true when I lived, and it remains true even now. The two of you truly are the best part of my life, the most beautiful expression of the “us;” of mom and me. I’m sorry I couldn’t walk along with you longer – I truly am. There are so many thresholds that you will cross that I won’t be physically present for, but hopefully you will sense me there laughing with you, beaming with pride, cheering you on, and reassuring you when you’re anxious or scared.
An excerpt from what I wrote to my sons-in-law, Tyler and Dylan:
“I understand that I’m not your biological father, but I hope that you both know that I count you as my sons and, though it may not carry the same meaning as hearing it from your biological fathers, know how much I love you both and am proud of you. I only ask that you love my daughters. Just love them because at their core – under that sarcastic, bad ass exterior – are two of the most loving, compassionate, giving, and beautiful people I know. They deserve that.”
An excerpt from what I wrote to my granddaughter, Adelynn (“nieta”):
“Perhaps my biggest sadness is knowing I will not be able to see the world as you experience it through your beautiful eyes and mind! I so wanted to see how the world unfolds for you. I wanted to be the doting grandpa that was at your sporting events or concerts or graduations or whatever it is that captures your mind, heart, and imagination. I wanted to be the grandpa that polkas with his grandchild at Disney like my father did with your mother and auntie. Savor life little girl, and know that when grandma holds you, talks with you, watches you, cheers you on, cries with you, and deeply loves you, she does it for the both of us.”
Finally, some concluding excerpts meant to reassure:
“Please know that I am fine and at peace. The faith I sought to embody now knows the hope for which I have striven my whole adult life.”
“Most of all, each one of you remember, that there is nothing you can do to make me stop loving you – even my death because, let’s face it, between “hello” and “good-bye,” there truly was a lot of love and laughter.”
Thanks, Todd, for that very poignant reminder to not leave important things unsaid. I appreciate how you followed through with sharing those very personal stories.