My late father struggled with grief. From the loss of his mother and his best friend Red within weeks of each other in 1977 to losing another bestie, Mike, decades later, Dad could be waylaid by grief seemingly out of nowhere.
Mike emerged as Dad’s best friend when I was off living my young adult life elsewhere in Texas. And though it seemed sudden to me, those two were thick as thieves, telling stories and laughing and tackling projects together. They loved each other.
And just as suddenly, Mike was gone, killed by a sudden-onset illness. It seemed as if that grief was ever-present in Dad’s life after that. Dad tried to cope, and more than a few times he told a particular story about Mike.
As the story goes, the two of them were side by side in the southeast Texas heat, committed to the sort of project my father often undertook with no hesitation. And that day, my father was complaining about something. So as my father got wound up in the process of venting, Mike remained quiet, taking in every word.
Dad did pause, eventually, and that’s when Mike responded with, “Doug, life ain’t all bad.”
A crucial component of this story, and the part my father always told next, is that Mike had two deaf teenagers who were attending a special school in Austin. In that moment, as he took in Mike’s response, Dad thought about what his friend had been through. Mike and his wife, neither of whom were deaf, found themselves with a life much different from what they had envisioned. Furthermore, Dad said he couldn’t remember Mike ever complaining about it.
In that moment, Dad’s own troubles seemed less important to him. And to be clear, it was not because he compared his distress to Mike’s. It was because deep down, he felt the truth of the response.
About 10 years later, Dad’s wife died. I was concerned about how he’d react, given his difficult history with grief. And he certainly grieved, but this time was different: He started taking cruises, undertaking new projects, and seeing family more often. It was a welcome relief, and when I asked him what was different, he said that Mike was right: Life ain’t all bad.
