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The Worst Thing In The World
- stadmin
- February 27, 2024
- 6:15 pm
- 9 comments
(I originally wrote this blog back in October, but had a hard time re-reading and editing it. After a recent adolescent health scare in my own extended family - that story, unlike the one you're about to read, had a happy ending - I felt it was the right time to revisit and share this.)
I've lived a ridiculously charmed life so far, and because of that I am a default optimist at almost all times. As a result, the stories I tell in my blogs are always positive and lined with a sense of hope for a better youth sports world for our kids.
But sometimes life is unfair and cruel, and today I want to share a tragic story that will not be easy to write, but that in the spirit of optimism and hope, might give all us parents something of immense value.
I'll just rip the Band-Aid off; one of my best friends and closest teammates from college lost his 2 year old son a couple of weeks ago.
Dutch was diagnosed with Leukemia right around his 1st birthday and then spent basically every day of the entire next year of his life in the hospital going through aggressive and truly awful chemotherapy treatments. Tragically, he passed a few weeks ago, just after his 2nd birthday.
The pain that my friend Sam and his wife are experiencing right now is a pain that I literally cannot wrap my head around. Their hearts are permanently broken.
From the day Sam shared the horrible news of Dutch's diagnosis with me, I have stayed in regular contact with him lending whatever love and support I could from 3000 miles away. And now, only a few weeks after Dutch's funeral, I continue check in with Sam regularly.
Most times when I reached out to him, I had no idea what to say, other than to remind him how much love for him, Dutch, and their family there was, and to try to be continued source of hope that Dutch would win his battle. Sam told me that support helped. I hope it did.
A few days ago, when Sam let me know that Dutch had passed, words were even harder to come by. They say having to bury your own child is the worst thing in the world and now having been a witness to that pain, albeit from a distance, I'm absolutely positive that is the truth.
There's nothing anyone can say or do to take away Sam's pain.
Sam spent every single day of Dutch's time in the hospital next to him and I know how strong a bond they formed. After Dutch's passing, Sam said how grateful he was for every minute he got to spend with his son, and being a witness to his love affected me in a surprising way.
I like to think that I'm a very present father who is active in both my kids' lives. I get to drop them off at school every morning, coach their sports teams, spend time with them on the field when they are baseball campers over the Summer, and on and on. I don't have to travel for work, nor do I have to leave the house at 6am to drive downtown. I do miss a lot of evenings during the baseball season when I'm doing lessons in the cage, but I'm still usually home in time to say goodnight. I'm lucky.
But after the year that Sam and Dutch had, and especially since his passing, I've asked myself, "Could I do more as a father?" And the answer was, "Yes."
I immediately signed up to be a volunteer on Sloane's school field trip, something I had never done before. I volunteered at "Science Day" in Maddux's class. And I will continue to look for every opportunity I can to spend more time with them.
But it's not just about the amount of time; I'm also thinking about the quality of the time when I'm around them.
For starters, I'm trying to hide my phone from myself after school - all those emails about baseball camp and lessons can wait until the morning - so that I'm fully present with them when we're together.
I haven't stopped getting on them when they don't listen or are bickering with each other - I'm still their father and there are still rules and expectations and consequences - but I am trying to be more appreciative of every minute I get with them. And not just in a "this is fun" way, but in a "wow, I'm really lucky to have this time with them" way.
Thankfully they aren't sick and hopefully never will be, but even with incredibly healthy kids, there will be a time in the very near future when they won't want to hang out with me. The teenage years are coming fast!
Someday, Maddux won't ask me to shoot hoops with him in the driveway after school. Sloane won't ask for "Snuggle Buggles" before bedtime. They won't want to carve Halloween pumpkins with Mommy and Daddy. And that's fine; that's part of growing up. But I'm definitely now finding a deeper sense of gratitude and joy in these moments.
And then a few years from now, they'll be off to college, and won't ever live under our roof again.
Enjoy every moment.
On the sports front, you know me, I've never yelled at a camper or a kid on one of my teams ever in my life. That's not my personality, but for parents who might be a little quick to get frustrated from the stands watching their kids make a mistake; instead of getting upset, perhaps approach the entire experience from a different perspective; take a step back and remind yourself just how lucky you are to get to watch them play at all, even when they're 0-4.
Sam will never get to watch Dutch play sports.
For the coach who might be quick to scream from the dugout or get overly frustrated by a loss; try reminding yourself how lucky you are to get to be the coach spending time with your son and his friends in the first place, even when your team just made 5 errors in an inning.
Sam will never get to coach Dutch's baseball team.
Sam will never get to drop him off at school. Or be a chaperone on a field trip. Or get asked to play catch in the backyard.
I could go on and on about what we get to do with our sons that Sam won't, but the perspective and sense of gratitude about my own kids that I've felt as a result of Dutch's passing has been profound.
As I struggle to find any silver lining in Sam's loss, what I told him the other day was that from my perspective, Dutch's legacy will be the positive impact his awful experience had on my desire to (hopefully) become a better father.
(Back to present day: when I most recently checked in with Sam a few days ago what he said broke my heart...again. He said, "I guess I'm doing a little better. I just really miss being a Dad." )
Let's not take for granted the incredible gift we have every time we get to do anything with our kids.
Rest in peace, Dutch.
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9 Replies to “The Worst Thing In The World”
Hey buddy,
Probably like many who read this blog, I am sitting here in tears. Your words impacted me and I am grateful for that. I’m Jagger’s baseball and soccer coach but more importantly, I’m his dad, and nothing is more valuable to me. I feel SO grateful for him, and I am heartbroken with you for your friend’s loss. I too have a close childhood friend who recently and suddenly lost his daughter. Her name was Lilly. So I too have had a front row seat to the pain a parent goes through with such a devastating loss. There are no words.. and as you mentioned, it’s hard to find a silver lining. I believe that the pain will never leave our friends and they will never be the same. I believe the gist of all spiritual journeys is to lose ourselves to find our true selves. In the case with our friends, they will need to lose themselves to find peace again. Thanks for sharing and for always being so caring with Jagger. Stacey and I think the world of you. Warm regards my brother, Tony Ahuja
I’m so sorry to hear about your friend. It breaks my heart. I’m glad you’re dedicated to supporting him.
My dad passed away recently. I’ve noticed a lot of what you wrote in my experience with losing my dad and translating it to how I can be a better father. A couple days ago I was reflecting on being a dad and how generationally, fatherhood has changed for my family. My grandfather was barely involved in my dad’s upbringing. My dad, on the other hand, was deeply involved in my upbringing. He didn’t have a great example to call upon but he did a great job. His work prevented him from being at every game and event but when he was there, he cheered me on and lifted me up. I’ve been very fortunate to coach and spend lots of time with my boys. Losing my dad has helped me to reflect on how to be a better dad. It’s refocused my energy and purpose. Just yesterday, I was driving my son to practice and it dawned on me, my dad was never able to drive me to practice. I was overwhelmed with joy thinking about the simple act of driving with a kid in the car. What a gift!
May we all find joy in the moment before the moment has passed.
💛 once in a while I make time to read a blog of yours these days.
I’m glad I read this one. You’re a wonderful dad. I am so sorry for your friend’s loss.
OMG my heart hurts for you and your friends loss. Thank you for sharing.
Beautifully expressed! I hope no one has to know that pain. What I wish for is for more people with this perspective. To be present, to cherish the moments, to be able to breathe it all in! Thank you for being there for Sam and his family. You are an incredible friend and inspiration.
Heartbreaking blog. Makes me want to be a better and more appreciative dad and coach too.
Keep up the positive work. RIP Dutch.
❤️ thanks for writing and sharing
Grayson easton and I appreciate your coaching efforts and what you teach is more than just the functional skills. See you soon.
Thanks Dan, incredible gift to give us those thoughts. Brings a tear.
I’m so sorry for your friend’s loss and hope we can all take your great message and learn from it, and appreciate every moment today and always. Being a parent is truly a gift and we are so very lucky.