06/16/2025
Lessons From A Father:
Today marks the 1 year anniversary of my dad's passing. My dad, Douglas Devan, passed away on June 15th, 2024 - the day before Father’s Day. My son, Max, was barely 2 months old. They never got to meet.
In the world of problem solving, there exists a robust methodology for assessing and fixing issues called Root Cause Analysis. At a very high level you start with your problem and you ask follow up questions, and usually the questions are a simple “Why?” or “And?”. By asking these questions you slowly dig deeper and deeper into problems until you finally come to the primary source of the issue. The superficial or reactive problem you started with suddenly opens up and you understand what has caused the problem to manifest. My grief was no different.
The deep pain of the sudden, unexpected loss of my dad was profound; but there was . . . is . . . a sadness there that goes deeper than just losing a parent. I’ve attempted to explore those feelings over the past year, and after months of reflection I believe I found what I was feeling.
I started with the problem and slowly, emotionally, I asked followup questions.
My dad died in a car accident.
And?
I hadn’t talked to him for a few weeks.
And?
He died the day before Father’s Day.
And?
This was my first Father’s Day as a dad . . . and also my first without one.
And?
He never got to meet his grandson.
And?
And . . . and there’s absolutely nothing I can do to change any of it.
There it was. The real reason for all the grief. There was nothing I could do to change all of the things I wish I could. I can’t call my dad. I can’t drive my son down to meet his grandpa. I can’t change the relationship I had with him. I can’t tell my dad I love him just one more time. I can’t control any of the things I once had control over, and now my own behavior and relationship with my dad are as unchangeable as his death. The ending has been written, and the book is closed.
. .
In the problem solving process, finding the essence of a problem is only half of the work. The other half, once the issue is revealed, is how to fix the problem so it doesn’t happen again. I found the problem. But what’s the solution? Is there one? Can anything meaningful actually come from any of this?
I love my dad so dearly, but there is no question I wish I had a different relationship with him. I wish I called him more often. I wish I had made more of an effort to see him and spend time with him. I wish I asked him more about his hobbies, interests, and views on life; and I wish I had shared more with him. Did he know I love maps? Did he know I love woodworking? Did he even know my son has a rare genetic disorder that makes him incapable of digesting and processing sugar? I don’t know, and I am so sorry for all of it.
I spent many months grieving for all the regret I had. But then one day as I went through the cycle of sadness and tried to find a solution for the millionth time, I realized that the problem I was having was, in itself, the solution if it is re-framed. I cannot change what was, but what about what is or what will be? The story of my father and me has been written, but what about the story of you and me? Those stories I still absolutely have control over and can change. I can choose to invest fully in the relationships with those around me. I can be more mindful and appreciate all the beauty of this world. I can make the conscious effort to spend every moment with my son, wife, family and loved ones, and fully enjoy the time I have with them. I can put away all of the distractions and ask those around me all the questions I wish I had asked my dad and grow and nurture the relationships I still do have in life.
When I was little, we had Red Clovers in our backyard. Small, unassuming, purplish flowers that dotted the fields around our house. I was just a kid, and they were just flowers to me. But then one day my dad bent down and ate one. He plucked the little florets from the flowerhead and noted how sweet they were and told me to try one. At first I thought he was silly, just a dad doing dad things to mess with their kid and make them eat something gross for a laugh. But after some more encouragement I realized he was serious. Hesitantly, I started to pluck some florets from a nearby clover and gave a little test bite. And wouldn’t you know it, he was right. The little purple flowers had a mild sweetness to them. Nothing like the intense sweetness of candy bars or sodas that really got me excited when I was a kid, but they were sweet nonetheless. I never looked at the world the same way after that day. It was so much more beautiful and complex than I ever thought possible.
I didn’t bury my father. The circumstances of his death left me with few realistic options, and in the end he was cremated. Instead of a burial, I embarked on the emotionally overwhelming task of making him his urn. Did you know I love woodworking, dad? The process was long, and not because it was physically difficult. But in the end, after many tears and just days before his birthday, I finally crafted something I think he would have loved. A walnut urn with his signature, adorned with two Red Clovers and a quote from his favorite scientist. Red Clovers as a reminder of the subtle sweetness life has if you just stop, pay attention, and look a little closer. Happy Father's Day, dad. I love you.
To anyone reading this: put down the phone, tablet, or computer when you’re done and look at your loved ones and tell them how much they mean to you. Ask them about their day, their interests, their hobbies. Look into their eyes and memorize their color and how they twinkle when they smile. Go out and take a walk with them. And while you’re out on that walk, stop and smell (or taste) the flowers for my dad, will you? You might just find out how sweet life is.
