A year ago yesterday, I woke up to go to work, shut off my alarm, went back to bed, and didn’t wake up for another 10 hours.  I knew it was the day my father was going to die.

When I finally woke up that afternoon, I laid on the couch mourning what I believed was inevitable…the call I received around 5PM telling me that my dad was in convulsions at home.

I was meant to meet with some of the most senior executives at my company that day.  I couldn’t have cared less.

I paced around my kitchen — do I race to Olympia towards the inevitable, or honor the last moments we spent together which occurred a week earlier?

There was really only one choice, one that I learned the value of when my grandmother died.

Complete your relationships, always and every day.  Say what must be said.  Never allow a moment where you don’t know unequivocal peace exists in the relationships that matter to you most.

If situations arise that some rush off to  address with their presence, you can breath deeply and comfortably in the peace of having a fully settled relationship.

You can rest assured that their thoughts and yours will be honest, connected, and present in a way proximity cannot overtake with its physicality.  Completion is the substrate for this…a space where both people understand what they meant to each other and why.

I believe wholeheartedly that in the last moments of my father’s life, he felt the boundlessness of my love for him; my faith tells me I’ll see him again.

I know that regardless of how his last moments transpired, he had a very smooth path towards God, smoothed by the love of relationships accumulated over a lifetime.

I wrote about this in my eulogy and he’s certainly had a lasting impact on me after his death.  His impact has withstood the test of time or corporeal presence.

I haven’t spent a single moment being sad about his passing, however.  Sometimes tears come because I don’t have the same level of access to him that I once did, but that’s my own myopic point of view.

In reality, my father is more so a presence in my life today than he ever was alive.  The best of him shows up at my weakest moments, and the lessons of his past present themselves when I need direction.

My father is an Angel.

He whispers to me, sees further ahead than I possible could, wants the best for me, but is willing to let me make my own decisions.

He knows, as I absolutely believe, that “life is just a classroom” and worries less that I fuck things up and more that I pay attention to the ways I could improve.

The last thing my father and I did together a little more than a year ago was listen to Taylor Swift 1989.  He loved “Style.”

Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style

Whether by accident or divine intervention, I decided to make a video this weekend of fun clips of me singing “New Romantics.”

Of all the dates I record in my calendar, my father’s death isn’t one of them.  In fact, my therapist Sara had to remind me this week that it was the anniversary.

I’m not sad…not a bit…because the best of my father is here with me, I see clearly the ways I can be the best of what he hoped for me, I struggle against the reality that I’m not, but his love wraps around me in the most amazing way…much as I hope mine did in his last moments.

Thank you, Dad.

Posted by Jason Krech

Faith, accountability, and dismissing any notion of being flawless are benchmarks of cool people. (Opinions are my own and represent no organization, corporation, or other entity I may be affiliated with.)

4 Comments

  1. Beautiful

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  2. Jason, thank you for this. Thank you for giving me a golden thread to hold onto as I get swept off into the currents of the craziness of everyday life. This just brings me back to where I need to be. “it’s a beautiful day…don’t let it get away”-U2

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    1. No thanks necessary. Makes me happy just knowing it meant something to you. You get honorable mention in the next post also. :)

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  3. […] New Romantics: Why I don’t feel sad my Dad died. […]

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