My father died two years ago this week.
I did my best to prepare myself for his death during the last year he was ill, but the sadness and grief that followed his passing reminded me how impossible it is to prepare for such a loss, even an expected one.
Are you ever ready to say goodbye to a loved one?
I lost a piece of myself the day he died. Life would never be the same without him. Not for me, my mother, my son, and every family member.
We all feel the loss daily.
He was such an instrumental part of our lives. Finding ways to move forward has been difficult.
It took more than a year for me to write about the incredible man I was blessed to call Dad. Before that, the words were far too difficult to see on a page. While it’s still not easy, I’ve learned to find hope and peace through the grief.
Hope & Peace
Moments of peace emerged by celebrating his life. A life full of love and many extraordinary accomplishments. To those who knew him, he was an example of a truly remarkable man.
I find peace knowing he’s remembered for his kindness, generosity, and compassionate spirit.
When the sadness and tears take over, I look for new ways to celebrate him and opportunities to revisit the many indelible lessons he taught. After the first anniversary of his death, I reflected on that first year after his passing. Now, two years later, I can take a deeper look, extracting lessons learned through grief.
Lessons through grief
My father’s death, like that of my beloved grandparents, uncles, and godfather years earlier, taught me grief is a process that comes in waves. You can’t know when the next big one will take you down, trapping you under a wall of water and leaving you searching for air and light at the surface.
In those moments when you’re submerged in the darkness, how do you find a way out?
I often look to the past.
Family bonds
I spent much time with my father, especially during the past decade. I cherished our times together, keenly aware that time passes too quickly.For 88 years, my father quietly touched the lives of thousands of people, but none more than his family.
He was also devoted to his patients, colleagues, and the medical profession, for which he dedicated more than sixty years. If you had the pleasure of knowing my father, personally or professionally, you knew him for his intellect, wisdom, and kind heart.
You also knew he was the epitome of class, one of the last true gentlemen.
He had a calm and gentle demeanor and a smile that warmed your heart.
Voted best dressed in high school, he always took pride in his appearance. He owned two pairs of jeans, one that he only wore when he was working in the yard; the other, a pair I bought him twenty-five years ago so he could be comfortable on a day off. He wore the ‘work’ pair regularly, but the other pair was rarely seen.
He was a faithful man who lived a life of truth. He attended church every week, but more than that, he lived his faith every day.
He was humble, understated, and a man of few words, but for those lucky enough to listen, he always left a lasting impression.
Through grief, I learned to be thankful for the treasured memories of my father. I was also reminded to cherish my loved ones and always make them a priority.
Capturing a life well lived
At the time of his passing, I located the handwritten notes he left me in the top drawer of his desk at home, an outline of his professional life. He asked me to write his obituary, a request I was honored to uphold. He made the request easy, highlighting key dates from his impressive resume that I may not have known or remembered.
I did my best to tell the story of his life, capturing his outstanding accomplishments and highlighting his legacy.
The outpouring of love after his death was hardly surprising. There were endless stories of his compassion and care for the patients he treated for decades.
Despite a COVID surge, on the day of his funeral, the church was filled with those who loved and respected him. Calls, cards, and donations to his chosen charity, The Dana Farber Cancer Research Center, continued for more than a year. When news traveled to patients in other areas of the country and outside the U.S., a call or letter soon followed. Everyone spoke of his kindness, generosity, and his love of family.
When I meet a former patient, they tell me stories he shared about his family’s accomplishments. He was so proud of his children, grandchildren, and the love of his life, my mother.
He and my mother devoted more than sixty-five years to each other. They were a beautiful couple in every sense, dedicated to each other and their families, role models to their children and grandchildren, and generous to those less fortunate.
The photo from their wedding day appears to be from a classic movie. My stunning mother, a local beauty queen who graduated with honors from Brown University, and my handsome father, the high school basketball player who became a dental surgeon and started the first dental program for disabled children in the U.S., ensuring all had a place for treatment.
I knew from an early age that my parents were exceptional in so many ways. Even when they faced challenges, they did so with such grace.
These are the things I focus on when I question how to keep moving through the grief.
The calm in the storm
When my son was four, I went through an unexpected divorce. Without missing a beat, my father stepped in as a surrogate father. How lucky he was!
We lived close to my parents and saw them regularly. Despite his busy schedule, he made time to see his grandson every day, even if it was for a brief hug and an encouraging word. He played endless hours of baseball with my son, taught him to play golf, and never missed a game.
When my son became ill at the age of eleven, my father accompanied us on endless appointments, questioning the specialists who were unable to determine what was wrong. When doctors dismissed my son’s condition, my father joined me in my search for answers. We passed books and medical articles between us. When finished, we discussed what we had learned, our concerns, and our fears.
My father was a pillar of strength for me and my son, the calm in our storm.
He compelled me to keep searching for answers to my son’s illness and inspired me to believe there was an answer.
He stood by me during the most challenging times of my life.
Through grief, I learned to recognize these precious lessons:
The greatest gift you can give a child is the gift of your time.
Children learn what they live and what they see.
When you teach by example, the lessons last a lifetime.
A healing journey
While nothing can replace the loss of a loved one who has impacted your life, I learned that honoring their memory as well as their wishes helps ease the pain.
My father discussed many of his wishes with me and my son during his final months. Most have been easily accomplished, but a few have been more challenging:
He wanted my son to complete and publish his first book of fiction.
He wanted me to tell our story of living with a chronic, invisible illness that was ignored by the medical community.
He wanted our story to give hope to others.
After my son found his passion for writing, my father encouraged him daily to pursue his gift. He loved reading his drafts and re-writes and discussing how he came up with his ideas. Although my son lost one of his biggest fans, not long after my father’s passing, he recounted a vivid dream where he and my father discussed his book, solving a plot issue that delayed his progress.
I wasn’t surprised when he shared this story with me. My father and son had a bond unlike most, and it seemed only natural that they would find a way to stay connected.
My son finished writing the first two books in a series and continues to work toward honoring my father’s wish to have them published.
Through grief, I found peace. Peace knowing that although our loved ones depart the physical world, they are still with us, and if we’re open, we can find a way to communicate with them.
Guiding me forward
After watching me struggle with my illness for many years, my father understood more than most that living with an invisible illness takes its toll and changes the course of one’s life.
He understood the misinformation surrounding my illness and encouraged me to write about my experience. He believed by doing so, I could help raise awareness and perhaps change the outcome.
He thought it essential to explain how I uncovered the cause of my son’s illness, and ultimately mine, while more than 30 specialists over two decades had come up empty.
As a physician who never stopped learning, my father could not comprehend how so many in the medical profession lacked the desire to understand what they didn’t know. He encouraged me to pursue the truth and uncover the many wrongs.
For these reasons, I lifted the veil that kept my illness and my twenty-five-year journey under wraps. While it was not easy to go public and disclose details of my condition, I found hope in doing so.
As my story unfolded, I realized how many people needed to know they weren’t alone. I heard from patients who were suffering in silence, alone, and isolated due to the lack of care available.
When I answered an email or message, I was thanked for opening a door and inviting them to connect.
In each of those messages, I found hope. Hope that came from grief and my father’s guiding hand. Hope that I could make a difference in some small way.
My father gave me the strength and the push I needed to tell my story. He warned me that many would question me and fight to preserve their ignorance, but he was adamant that the truth be told.
Now, when I close my eyes at the end of the day, I hear the wisdom of my father’s words.
I see the love in his eyes and the kindness in his smile.
I feel the warmth of his embrace.
In these moments, I find both hope and peace.
Hope that he’ll continue to inspire and guide me along my path.
Peace that I’m not alone. That he is always close.
The grief and sadness that accompanies the loss of a loved one does not disappear. I’ve been told it lessens over time, but I can’t speak to that as it hasn’t happened yet.
Through grief, I’ve learned that we find a way to move forward, one step at a time, one day at a time.
I’ve accepted it’s okay to stumble in the process.
It’s okay to question why or how.
It’s also normal to feel the waves of grief resurface at odd times.
I can’t watch golf on a Sunday any longer or wash my car with the bucket, sponge, and shammy my father used. Maybe one day I will.
For now, I carry his memory close to my heart, tell him how much he is missed, and thank him for bringing me messages of hope.
I love you, Dad.❤️ 🙏🏻
In loving memory of Arthur Mansolillo, DDS 1932-2021
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Beautiful tribute to your dad. The love you have for each other is ever present.
He is, and always will be with you.
Tracy...what a wonderful tribute to your dad. You can feel the love and connection in your words. This article is a beautiful journey!