This is bonus time.  I turned 40 years old on August 26, 2005.  For many people, that milestone is celebrated with gag gifts and references to being “over the hill.”  In my case, despite having a kid-friendly family and friends celebration at our house, this was also a solemn occasion.

You see, I am the first male in 3 generations to reach this milestone.

My father and his father before him each died at age 39, both from complications related to the Marfan Syndrome, a connective tissue disorder which is often undiagnosed until manifested in many cases in the rupture of the aorta, a major blood vessel near the heart.  In my grandfather’s case, it was undiagnosed – his official cause of death was listed as “angina.”

In my father’s case, he underwent life-saving surgery at age 32 (in 1972, when I was 7 years old.)  There were significant complications and a multi-month hospital stay.  I didn’t see him for over a month, for fear of germs/infection and the possibility that he had contracted hepatitis through his incredible amount of blood transfusions.  At one point, I literally demanded to speak to him on the telephone, because the thought had crossed my mind that he had actually died and no one could bring themselves to tell me.

He finally came home, re-connected with his family, returned to some measure of good health, and resumed his career for 6 more years.  I am so appreciative for that bonus time, as I was able to develop a deeper relationship with him.  Unfortunately, he started feeling ill again in 1980, and went on disability leave from work.  In March 1981, days after being diagnosed with a very large aortic aneurysm, he died only one day before he was scheduled to be flown to Texas for a complicated repair of the prior surgery.  I was 15 years old at the time, and a junior in high school.

In the aftermath of my father’s passing, I assumed the role, partly at my father’s request, of the man of the house.  In the days before he died, he showed me how to pay the family bills and asked that I assume a leadership role in the family – such as leading the annual Passover Seder and in general watching over my mother and sister, and also my maternal grandparents.  On the day he died, he told me not to feel guilty for his predicament (a sentiment which didn’t make much sense to me in that moment, but was very important to me in shaping how I embraced life since that time).

Looking back, I was conflicted between the desire to honor my father and meet a current family need, and the desire to enjoy myself as an adolescent.  I needed to seek a return to normal without seeking special treatment.  I distinctly remember, for example, at my father’s graveside funeral, seeing a group of my high school friends lined up and walking over to them briefly to greet them and thank them for attending.  I later remember talking to some of my closer friends during the first week after and wanting to make sure that the 11th grade vs. 12th grade floor hockey game would not happen while I was out.  That was as much special treatment as I wanted.  I even decided to break with religious tradition and attend school on the Friday after my father died (exactly a week later), and not on the Monday following.

As much as one can wear the mask and get on with life in day-to-day situations, one thing I didn’t anticipate when my father died was the ongoing sense of loss which bubbles to the surface at particularly emotional times, such as family milestones..   Three months after my father died, in June 1981 at my sister’s 6th grade graduation my family had one of those experiences.  We all broke down and cried and ended up in a group hug at the conclusion of the ceremony.  My high school and college graduations were just as emotional.  So too were events involving our extended family.  The day-to-day routine of living without a father was supplemented by the “routine” of significant public displays of the emotion of grief, sadness and loss at milestone events.  Even movies such as the last scenes of “Field of Dreams” (where the father returns for one last game of catch with Kevin Costner) or, more recently “The Greatest Game Ever” (where Francis Ouimet’s heretofore unsupportive father shows up to congratulate him after his U.S. Open golf victory) evoked a tremendous outpouring of emotion from me, and, I imagine, quite possibly from many others who have experienced the death of their father.  We long for one more chance to see that our father is with us.  It is an impossible task to prove yourself to a ghost. 

I have also come to learn, as I have grown older and begun raising a family of my own, that while the emotions still do return, I would no longer characterize them solely as a sense of loss.  I truly believe that there is some positive emotional element of having overcome the loss, to a certain degree, and now the tears include tears of pride and of joy in being able to continue to celebrate life, without focusing entirely, or even primarily, on a sense of loss.

I feel strongly that there is some reason why I am still here - a reason that transcends earning money and supporting a family.  I started to think about being philanthropic, and started researching the needs of children whose fathers have died, and learned that common themes include social isolation, lack of adult availability to guide them, and diminished family resources to provide for more than basic necessities of survival.  I also thought back to my experiences as a grieving teen, and have shaped a belief that without intervention, grieving children not only lose their parent, they also often lose some of their childhood, and, in turn, they can lose the opportunity to become the adult they might have been.

I also spoke with leaders from all over the United States who are involved in grief support, shared the idea for Daddy’s Spirit, and invited their feedback.  They were kind to offer advice and encouragement, and reinforced the belief that Daddy’s Spirit would be a unique and extremely beneficial program – a program which has a place in grieving children’s lives along with or after therapy and support.  Daddy’s Spirit is also differentiated from grief camps, which have proven to be highly beneficial, but are generally a week or weekend in duration, and often in the summertime, away from the stresses of the school year – whereas Daddy’s Spirit runs throughout the school year, generally on weekends.

“Daddy’s Spirit Moves Me Forward” was incorporated on September 9, 2005 as a Pennsylvania non-stock, non-profit entity.  I proudly serve as its Executive Director (currently on a volunteer basis).