Your Mother Would Have Been Proud

As a parent, there are some words you never imagine yourself saying. “Your mother would have been proud” is probably right at the top of the list. I know I never pictured myself ever saying something like that, but as I approach the three year anniversary of my wife Suzanne’s passing from lung cancer on June 30th, I find myself saying it with more frequency and more self confidence. Dara, I know that your mother would have been proud of the work that you are doing. Zach, I know that your mother would have been proud of the man you are becoming.

I suppose it is all part of the evolution of grieving, you are sad, crushed at first— overwhelmed by the loss, overcome with emotions, unprepared for the uncharted future as you struggle to “right the ship” so to speak. To navigate life without your wife, your partner in crime, your best friend, and the mother of your two children is unquestionably intimidating. Hell, this was Suzanne’s ship to sail, I was but a provider and a passenger, I was never trained for this God! And besides, I hate boats, I’m scared to death of boats and yet God, you have now made me captain the ship. I guess this is God’s attempt of helping me overcome my fears and my grief.

So, yes the first year is a real struggle, a blur when you think back about it. Your days are interspersed with tears and smiles and an occasional laugh. Something crosses your mind, tears well up in your eyes, and then, when you need it most, you feel your lips curl upward at their edges and there is a hint of a smile … that little bit of joy and maybe you chuckle lightly to yourself. Yeah, that first year is tough. Thank God for your memories.Thank God for your children, your family and your friends. Even work suddenly seems well, almost refreshing, more important almost than ever before. Not because of the money, but because it helps to take your mind off of other things.

The second year, a new normal settles in, you revel in your children’s accomplishments, both big and small. You challenge yourself to become a better person, a better parent, a more complete and emotionally honest and caring human being. It is as if the morning marine layer is burning off and you can begin to see your surroundings again, the beach, the boardwalk, the ocean, wait, isn’t that a rock jetty over there? Yes, yes it is. The mental fog is lifting and a sense of clarity is returning. The tears are less frequent, the smiles grow bigger, the laughter is louder and you are more willing to share it with others. Life is beginning to resemble what it was before the diagnosis, before the stage 4 lung cancer, before the 6 to 9 months to live prognosis. Before the doctor says matter-of-factly, like he has said this too many times before, “you better get your affairs in order.” Yes, somehow life seems more like what passed as the normal times before all of that.

Now as I approach the three year anniversary, I find my life rewarding in its simplicity. I know who I am, I accept who I am, and I am happy with who I am. I am a 69 year old widower, who is blessed to have spent 33+ years with my wife, I have two wonderful children. Dara, my oldest, is soon to be engaged (It became official on June 27th, congratulations kids!), and with that there is a wedding to plan. I couldn’t be happier for her. Zach is working on building a business. He is putting together a really strong team, and well, I help where I can. I have an opportunity to work with my son and leave a video legacy for the grandchildren that I hope to have one day. I find myself smiling often, laughing hard, and shedding fewer tears. I love being able to say to Dara, I know that your mother is proud of you and I know that she would be really happy for you and your fiance Zack (welcome to Team Shefska). And Zach, your mother would be proud of the business that you are building, and I know that she would be happy that we are working together. She would probably be happier if you, I don’t know, paid me, but that is OK, because sometimes the best pay is just being able to be by your side and being part of the process.

You know what, your mother is proud and damn it, so am I. She would be prouder yet of how we have all grown, survived, even thrived, and we couldn’t have done it without her. I guess in a way it is still her ship to sail and we are all still just the passengers on her life’s journey. A journey that may have physically ended for her three years ago, yet somehow continues even today through all of us. Yeah, your mother would have been proud, for sure.

Much love Suzanne, I will miss you always.