A Top a Colorado 14'nr with my Mom, Dad & brother
I’m also missing my dad too. As I write this I’m listening to the soundtrack of a hundred plus songs I put together for my father’s (BP) memorial service last May.
It’s like riding the razor’s edge… on one hand there’s comfort in the sounds of Neil Diamond, Simon and Garfunkel, the Eagles, Herb Albert, Billy Joel, Van Morrison, and so much more of the music he loved, that defines nearly all my memories of him. At the same time there’s a depth of pain and loss, an emptiness like none I’ve ever known.
I’m quite sure the stewardess on this flight think me mad—my contorted face showing both intense pain and loving joy at the same time. No doubt, in the everyday landscape even a scent of this state could be pretty unsettling.
Right now I’m listening to a classic from Neil (Diamond)… Done Too Soon… the lyrics that just passed, “we wept when it was all done… for being done too soon…” could not be more timely and accurate.
My dad, BP (standing mtn top in family climbing photo above), was barely a month past his 63rd when he left us… far too soon. He fell ill rather suddenly, from a place of perfect health—a lifetime of strong, vibrant health and in one year he was plummeted to the depths of suffering and weakness.
One year ago today I tucked my son, Nathaniel in to bed and drove to the ICU room at University hospital. I had to sneak in (as visiting hours were over) to tuck my sleeping father in to bed. He was connected to more machines than the space shuttle before liftoff, yet we all still believed he would walk out of that room soon enough. That’s just who he is; always there, always capable, always strong and determined.
As much as my mind had believed he would be with us for 10 or 20 more years, something that night hit me. I knew it was the last time I would see him alive. Knew in a way beyond mind— a sort of knowing that defies description. I kissed his cheek and left a letter I’d written for him that he might read in the morning. In it I told him how much he was loved, how much I loved him.
The Next Day
The next day, one year (5 now) ago tomorrow, my sister Shelly called me and said, “Let’s go!” I jumped in the car and we drove the most surreal 15 miles of our lives. It was like we were floating and feeling the fear and reality in each moment.
How does one know what to expect when you lose a parent, when a boy loses his father? You don’t. You can’t. So you go. You go because you have to, and you want to and you don’t want to be anywhere else, doing anything else.
We arrived in the ICU to find dad in cardiac arrest and a team doing everything possible to revive him. Sure, there was hope but then there was also a sense of here it is. This is it. The last time, the last breath. My life, our life, would never be the same. Not bad, just not the same. A man I called my father was leaving—leaving us here, leaving this world. Perhaps he’d had enough, had seen a way out. Perhaps he was even able to relax his grip on life, to find peace if only for a moment. I want to believe all this and more.
We stood for a near an hour and watched them work on him. Then it was done, too soon. My sis, Shelly and I grabbed each other and held on. Then she said, “What do we do now?” Fuck, I had no idea what to do but I knew without doubt that there was but one direction to move. Forward. That the next thing, the most immediate thing we could do was take a step. Nothing more, nothing less.
I said, “We put one foot in front of the other and then the other until we’ve moved our bodies somewhere. And that’s all I know now.”
We repeated this ritual move enough times to get on the elevator then I managed to drive my floating space-car to a nearby restaurant in Cherry Creek. it was mid-afternoon, and the sun was shining brightly; a gorgeous spring Colorado day. Just the kind of day dad most loved and would never see again. We parked the car and stepped out, the sidewalk seemed to rise to meet and even push back. The earth felt to be spinning faster and have stopped at the same time.
We grabbed a seat near the deck, in the sun and the friendly waitress came over and said, “How’s your day? Gorgeous outside, isn’t it?”
Shelly and I had to laugh inside, nearly mustering an audible chuckle at the relative insanity of what she was asking. If only she knew the listening in to which she was speaking. She didn’t, we knew that. It was a moment of garnering a new and unforgettable respect for the individual experience of each person on this earth.
We managed to order a couple of Cosmo’s and raised a toast to “BP” – to a life well lived. And in the next moment and in every moment since, we’ve mustered the courage to take that next step, to put one foot forward knowing that the second that just passed is gone forever–never to return. Odd that time is like life, so final.
There are no “redo’s” in life, and painfully, there is no safety. There is only forward, with Strength and courage—which means with fear, not in the absence of it. To rest in what is, to hold on to security is to shrink away from life, to die inside before one dies.
Tomorrow will mark one year, to the day, of my father’s death. It’s been one strange year, in more ways than I can begin to convey here, now. But each time I think of my father I step forward, stand up and my Strength and courage rises—it’s what the Shambala traditions call “windhorse.”
My son and I around this time
I cherish each moment with my son, I see him and I see myself with my father. I’m inspired to give him all that our father gave us and perhaps in some way, more.
Life is Ceaseless Change
Everything passes. I used to believe that, now I know it. Life is terminal— you won’t get out alive, this I can promise you. Do yourself, your family and the entire world a favor: Don’t squander it. Don’t “do tomorrow” that great thing that can be done today.
Create and share some thing that matters. Be of service, give your time, energy and focus to someone who was not expecting it. Smile, say “Hi!” and mean it. Whatever feels great for you, do that.
And most importantly, BE HERE NOW. Trust me, it’ll will all be done too soon.
.
A 5 Year Update
As it tends to be with almost any anniversary, I can’t believe it’s been 5 years since my dad passed–for since I wrote this post. I recall sitting on the plane ride east, writing this with stunning clarity–as clear as I recall the day a year before that my dad passed. I share this not to be a downer in any way or tug upon heart strings but more so as a reminder of the wake up call that passing is. If not for the fact that those we love leave us, we might not ever stop to value the journey we are on.
Since this time much has happened in my life, I’m sure in yours and the world. At the time of this post I was just getting Full Strength through development and out to the world. I’d go on to write Strength for LIFE a few years later and most importantly added a daughter, Lilly, to our family a couple years ago.
That’s a very short summary but it adds a little perspective to life and time. I miss my father in so many ways and often think about how much the kids would have enjoyed knowing him and he them. But it is as it is, so we all go on. Which is what we do–what Strength and Life are all about. We get up, find a way, share ourselves, embrace life and hopefully do it all a little better, with a little more flair and care for having had good people in our lives.
To Your Life @Full Strength,
Shawn
Follow Me: /Twitter/shawn_phillips
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Related posts:
Twitter
Facebook
RSS
Wonderfully well-written, heartfelt post. Really moving.
Not sure why exactly, but what comes to me in reading this is the notion that our mutual connection, Ken Wilber, talks about when he talks about divine pride. that even in the most difficult circumstance, there is a core of clarity that we can access. it seems to me that you accessed that clear core, that divine pride, when you wrote this post about your father’s passing.
Yours,
Durwin
SO so glad to see this up on your site. It’s just as real reading it today as it was over 4 years ago. Your best work, Shawn…in my opinion. Thanks for being a teacher…need more of this. Continue to keep “reaching and connecting.”
Kevin
Shawn
You speak with such clarity and honesty in everythIng that I come across written and shared by you. Man, that shows such courage and integrity to be so in-tune with your feeling and body in the NOW. With all due credit given to Tripp Lanier and the New Man Life program, I don’t think I would have discovered your work, your philosophy of Life @ Full Strength or the possibility of my own potential.
Thank you for helping me open that door – it has been inspiring!
Humbly, Jonathan
Jonathan,
Thank you for your kind words. I very much appreciate the sentiment. I’ve enjoyed watching your journey through Twitter and communicating with you.
I do get the upside a stronger community interaction and support. It takes some effort but thinking that it’s time to set up a well oiled Facebook group page or something. No use managing individual socials these days as the tools for support are all there.
Thank you!
To Your Life @ Full Strength,
Shawn
Shawn, This is a beautiful (although sad) post. Thank you for sharing so much of yourself! I really appreciate and needed the reminder that life is temporary, and each day is our opportunity to do something with it. My grandma always tells me, “Life is god’s gift to you, and what you do with it is your gift to god.” So today, I will choose to live my life fully! Thank you, Kateri
Thanks for sharing Shawn. My dad passed 5 years ago in December. Your re-post brought back some memories for me, although there probably isn’t a week that passes that I’m not reminded of my dad.
For me, the song was “Live Like You Were Dying” by Tim McGraw. Came out the same year and was on the radio every day. That’s the gift of loss; understanding to live now, be present and drink the nectar of life. Great reminder. I’m going to watch my son play soccer now and enjoy the moment.
Be well.
Mike
Shawn you and your brother have brought such awareness into my life with your works over the years. This blog along with some of the inner work in transformation has brought me to write my own father a letter and to reconcile with him after 20 years of conflicts and ups/downs. thank you for inspiring this example to always tell our families we care about them NOW and not wait. Life is too short and I intend to keep making progress and living to the fullest.. God Bless you and your entire family. Lots of Love…. andrew
My father died in January of this year at age 70 from Esophagus cancer. He’d been diagnosed 10 months earlier but month by month lost ground until he actually appeared 20 years older. I know the feeling of driving on air. My brother and I work for my father’s company in NJ and he was in Florida with my Mother and sister. The day you get the call is surreal. Making the decision to drop everything, get a flight and a rental car and then make the trip is surreal. Not knowing if you will make it on time. Talk about stubborn, he lasted 10 more days till he finally let go. Yeah, you just put one foot in front of the other every day. Somedays you walk yourself right into a brick wall and they all fall on you but you get up and keep going. You have to.
Paul, I’m so sorry. You’ll make it. Say what you have to say and be at peace.
-Debbie
Shawn,
Reading your story is like reliving my life through your eyes! I know your pain brother. Next month on June 10th will be the 1 year anniversary of my Dad’s passing. I remember leaving the hospital and feeling like I was floating, not sure what the hell to do. The past month has been 1 filled with constantly thining about that night and what could have been done differently.
I can also say I was blessed becasue I was with my dad as I was visitng from AZ with my son and him & my mom live in Va. We were 1 hour from taking my son to the airport to come back home when my dad suddenly collapsed. He held my son and my hand tight from 8pm until he passed at 2:38 in the morning. My son also reminds me so much of my Dad.
Shawn, you have done very well for yourself & your family. Your Dad would be very proud of you!
I read your story with pain in my heart, you see my father has terminal Leaukaemia and is close to the end (how close only time will tell, my father is very stubborn). Watching somebody you have always looked up to, wither is very painful, but when the fateful day arrives I do not know how I will cope. I have my pain, but I also have my daughters pain as she adores her grandfather. I am 42, but feel 10 when around my father, he is 5ft 6in and I am 5ft 10in, but I feel 3ft when he is near.
Thank you for your courage in telling us what must be a very painful story.
Very beautifully expressed thoughts on such a life changing anniversary. I grew up listening to the same groups you mentioned as those were favorites of my mom’s as well. Thank you for sharing such a personal story today.
~Sally : )
Shawn your words stand timeless as a call to action, A call to live life, A call to share ourselves with others as a Positive gift. Thanks my friend I will be looking for extra time with the kids today.
~Dave
Today will be a different day because I read this. Thank you!
Thank You so much for your response It came on a perfect day, just when it was needed.
HI Shawn,
Thank you so much for sharing the story about your dad. Nine years ago I lost my dad and your experience sounds so familiar. My dad fell suddenly ill with an infection that went to his heart and he passed two weeks later. I never thought for a moment that he wouldn’t make it. He worked out every day, he ate better than anyone I knew and he had a heart of gold.
My husband and I were on our way to the Arnold Classic (he and my mom had gotten us tickets for completing one full year of successful BFL challenges…honestly!!) and decided to stop and see my dad on the way to the airport. We weren’t in the hospital 15 minutes before he went into cardiac arrest and passed.
I let too many years go by with the feeling that he treated his body and life with respect and at 59 his life as still gone too early. I allowed that to affect everything in my life, my health, my weight, my job(s). Just the January I decided that even though my healthy father left us too early…his quality of his life is what mattered. It took me nine full years to come to that conclusion.
I am sorry for your loss but appreciate you sharing your story and the life lesson.
Warm Regards,
Jill
Jill,
Wow what a story you have to share. Congrats on the year of BFL success. What a tragic ending and what a ride.
But no matter what I did or didn’t do yesterday, there’s always today. So let this day be another step in the right direction, a further awakening of your Strength and courage.
To Your Life @ Full Strength,
Shawn
Hey Shawn,
Thanks for allowing us inside your soul for a bit…this was a very touching post. Having seen way too many of my family crossover it is very important…no…critical to be here now.
To Your Inner Strength!
Gregg, thank you for your comments. Seems you and I are still on slate to share some inner strength dialogue. Be talking with you shortly…
Take care,
Shawn
wow great post. Thanks for the reminder on how precious life is….
Hi Shawn,
My dad died August 25th this year. I was supposed to present a paper at the Integral Conference in August. After the conference, my mate from Boulder who now lives in Cali and I would make a fabulous drive from SF to Boulder, through the South, and see the Grand Canyon. For me, being European, this would have been an awesome, one in a lifetime experience. Some weeks before the conference all kinds of things happened in my life – some bad spells of bad luck – and I decided not to go to the States, but instead fly to Belgium and spent some time with my parents. As an adult I never spent much time with my parents anymore. When I came home my unconscious mind was surprised how much older my dad looked, but I didn’t think nothing of it. He was in good health, at an age of 69, although he took blood thinning medicine for his heart. What I didn’t know was that these two weeks together would be the last weeks I would ever spend with him. We went to do in those two weeks all the things we used to do when I was a kid: we went biking together, had lunch together, went to a local farmer’s market, etc. I couldn’t have known, but I am very grateful to have had these two weeks. My dad died in a way he would have peferred. Suddenly, one evening, no warning, it was over in a second: his head dropped down on the table while he was playing cards with his mates. Nothing anybody could do.
The one thing I truly regretted was not having given my dad more information about how to exercise, and how to eat right. I know that I am not responsible for my dad’s death. I know it’s the law of nature at work. But it made me think how important it is, that when you have information that could change people’s lives you therefore should share it, so that it can indeed change people’s lives! Maybe my dad would have lived just a bit longer, maybe he would still be with us now. I mean, I have no regrets that my dad died: his death was beautifull, and I spent one more week with him at the morgue, spending each day some time with him, telling him how I loved him, and how I missed him. I have no regrets: it is a journey that my dad had to make at the end of a beautiful life. And I miss him and love him very much.
But still the truth rings: be all you can be, build up a knowledge base on how to make your body stronger, fitter, leaner, healthier so it will protect your spirit for longer, and share this knowledge with everybody who needs it, so you can transform their lives as well.
That’s why I love your books Shawn, as simple as that. Because you have dedicated your life to do just that: to gather the best information on this subject and share it with us all!
In Strength,
Geert
Hey Shawn,
Thank you for sharing your story about your father. I really appreciated that. I too am very close to my father, he’s always there for me, even though I’m an adult, married with kids. He still enjoys doing things for me. He still considers me his little girl. My dad will be 78 in November. He’s very active, however, he smokes a pack of cigarettes a day and drinks lots of coffee. I love him dearly, but he is going to do what he is going to do. I’ve tried to prepare myself mentally for what is to come with no avail. I am living in the moment and loving every minute I share with him. Your so right, I know when it’s my turn to go through what you have that I will have to put one foot in front of the other and move my body to the next level. Because eating junk and staying in bed/couch isn’t going to make it better. Exercise and clean eating will! I wish you well, take good care of yourself and your family.
Shawn
yes yesterday is history, tomorrow a mystery or another way of putting it: Yesterday is a cancelled check, tomorrow is an IOU, but today is cash — spend it wisely.
I was in the midst of reading and enjoying your thoughts about the passing of your father when all of a sudden there was the F word. It seemed so out of place and totally changed the feelings I had up to that point. I realize that for many people in the world that word is common place, but for many of us it is a very offensive word.
Shawn,
Thank you for sharing your story…you are so right about living in the moment. Life is too darn short to waste. I challenge anyone reading this to contact your family and friends and BE SURE that they know you love them…carpe diem!
I lost my mother and best friend 10 years ago. My sister and I were at her bedside and it was truly a paradoxical moment. Her last moments convinced me of life in the hereafter which brought me joy; however, my lonliness and loss brought me sadness. On May 19th, I went with my dad and his new wife to visit Mom’s grave at dad’s request. He doesn’t seem to understand that I continue to carry Mom in my heart everyday and that I don’t feel the need to visit her grave. Guess it’s just a difference in generations.
You’ve brought back a flood of memories, Shawn…thanks!
Hello Shawn I have as yet thankfully no experience of your’s and Bills great and tragic loss, and yet your words have truly spoken to me I believe a lesser man would not have faced his path as you have done, a lesser man that I shamedly admit to have been in the past “Life is terminal – no one gets out alive. Don’t squander it – don’t “do it tomorrow.” Do something great today – something that matters. Be of service, give something to someone who was not expecting it. Smile, say “hi!” and mean it… whatever feels great for you…do it…” your words that sentence literally floored me, it has opened my eyes and can now see I have a loving careing mother, a father i do not know two amazing sons and a girlfriend that who is more than I could have ever hoped or dreamed for and that just the high lights. Thank You Shawn for givin me a “Fuckin Good Kick Up The Arse” I needed it, I truly am sorry that it took your loss to wake me, and possibly thousands and thousands of people up. On reflection I have a purpose in life one I took for granted inthe past, I’am no longer that lesser man!! Again Thank You Shawn, if you believe I could ever return the favour I would be pleased to help.
Kind Regards Lee.
Shawn,
Thanks for sharing this with us. It was beautifully written. I cried. You see, I am age 62. Now you are making me think about my life. I am also wondering what you were up to in New Jersey.
Sincerely,
John
Shawn, thanks for sharing such a personal experience. Your words are very moving. I turned 64 last month and fortunately still find myself in good health. I have followed yours and your brother’s work for nearly 10 years, entered one of the EAS contests long ago, and have already signed up for my first Ironman triathlon next April (2007). I credit most of my small successes to inspiration from you and Bill.
Many thanks, Shawn, for all your years of service.
sorry about your dad i know what you going through i lost my mom two years ago but it does get better sometimes you think of them when a certerin song comes on the radio but with good memories. does hgh build muscle fast or not and what kind of exercises should i do to get bigger muscles.
Shawn, thanks for sharing your heartfelt pain. It is hard losing parents, their presence and love. Yet we accept the role as the older generation to lead where they led. It gives confidence to know they led us well. I grieved, was angry and sad. Now I can love my own sons even more. I appreciate your insights and willingness to share with all of us. Rich
Shawn,
I have read your words and like many things in life it seems fate has played her hand.
Like you I lost my father recently. He passed away due to Asbestosis which is like watching soem-one drown for 24hours.
My brother and stood by Dads bed for 2 days watching dad steruggle for every breath. Part of me wanted to not be there and a bigger part Knew Dad did not want to be alone and that we owed him too much to not share his pain and try and relieve it.
Morning after dad’s apssing was a bright Saturday here in Tasmania (Australia) and waiting for me at home was my two little boys and I knoew then that the circle of life continued and it sort of made sense.
Your words make sense and provide me with comfort.
I will rpint your words out and give a copy to my family.
Thanks Shawn.
Shawn, Thank you for your story. I too have lost 2 loved ones in the same manner in the ICU cardiac a rest and much too soon. My mother 65 2 years ago and my brother 38 1 yr this month. There is no other pain or void that is felt like losing loved ones that you are closed too. It took me a long time to recover but I am living again one step at time and loving every minute of life can give because life is too short and there are no guarantees of tomorrow. Blessing to you and your family Tonya
Shawn,
I lost both my parents unexpectedly to cancer at 56 and 65, so I understand your feelings of having your father’s life end too soon. Although it has been 12 years since my dad passed away and the pain and sting of those days has dissipated, the memory of him still burns brightly, and I continue to celebrate the triumphs of my parent’s lives and the legacy they have left behind. When I was in the darkness in the days after their passings I relied heavily upon a quote in a book I read. It says: “Death is not putting out the light
It is extinguishing the lamp because the dawn has come.” While words are incapable of healing the loss felt in your heart and soul, know that your father continues to live on in your life and the legacy you build.
May the peace of God’s love be with you and your family.
Rod
How timely…thanks for sharing your story Shawn. My Mother was in the hospital from March 4th through May 8th…the day she died almost 3 weeks ago. On May 4th we met with the team of doctors and they told us how great she was doing and that everything was going in the right direction – they didn’t even express a single concern. We were jubilant and so was she. On Sunday May 7th Mom and I watched the movie “Dreamer” from her hospital room. We talked and laughed and had such a great time, after all…she was coming home soon. When I arrived at the hospital on Monday 5/8, after purchasing a beatutiful Mother’s Day gift for her, she was in cardiac arrest and they were all around her trying to stabilize her. They did, but not for long. We gathered around, held her and told her how much we loved her and what a spectacular Mother and Wife she had been. Like your family Shawn, we were so sure we were going to bring her home. what a different place this is when one of our parents is gone. One day at a time is the only way. I look forward to seeing her again but, in the meantime, we have to put our efforts into taking care of Dad. After 56 years of marriage he’s a bit lonley…to say the least. Take care, God Bless. Cindy
Shawn,
As I type this, my eyes are filling with tears – I lost my Dad when I was 9, so he never knew the adult I would become. I lost my mother on December 12, 2001, and like you, I knew life would never be the same. Thank you for sharing your Dad with us and your memories of him. Like another response, time does help – though in the case of my mom, it hasn’t dulled the pain enough yet. I pray that you and your family remain well and happy.
Shawn, Hold Angie and Nathaniel close. Life is short. It’s been 2 years since my dad’s death. Time helps.
I pray God gives you a peace beyond what we can understand.
As I read every word of your article, I felt again the sudden loss of my dad (on this same weekend) in 2000 and then my mother the following year. To convey your experience with such eloquence is so admirable. It’s impossible to take the lifetime of a person who made such an impact on your life and encapsulate it into a few words to try to express to others your experience. It’s as though your life and the life of your family is a train on a track when suddenly you top a hill and the track is no longer there. Then, from that day forward, your memories are catalogued as an event that happened ‘before’ or ‘after’. As a family, the loss of a parent is a memory marker in our lives, the closing of a chapter to our family book, a book that may never be finished. I strive to live a life that will be remembered as joyful and celebrated after I am gone, and that when I leave this crazy world, my departure will be a marker for those I leave behind. Thank you Shawn.
Thank you for sharing this and your heart. I’m sorry about what you had to go through with your dad. I’m glad he had a good life and that you cherished your relationship with him.
God bless you and your family,
Doris