This past summer, my father-in-law passed away suddenly.
Even though months have past, we’re still in the grieving process.

I state this here not to garner pity as much as state a fact that is stated well in other places: that grieving a loss, any loss, isn’t something that has an automatic timeline to it. Grieving a loss of life is an event whose shadow can creep up at odd moments for odd reasons, weeks, months or years after the fact. And as this is the first loss of parent for either my wife or me, it’s fresh territory (and much deeper for my wife, to be sure. And Art’s wife) where I really see that played out.

At 81 years old, Art still did what he could for those he loved, right up until he died while walking home with a litre of milk for his wife Valerie’s tea.
We walked that same path with him to get ice cream with our kids less than a week before.
The summer before, he helped with renos at his oldest son’s house in Saskatchewan.

Shortly after he passed away, a friend described him as a gentleman, a true gentleman and truly gentle man.
He had a noble gentleness and quiet wisdom about everything he did and said, which seemed to be sourced from a well that ran deep.
I can’t help but think he was one of the last remaining gentle men of his kind.

There’s more and better and more specific to be said about him, but for these purposes (sort of intentionally) I will leave it there for now.

What this has to do with MoustacheMonth™

I waffled on whether to share about this emotional new territory of grieving in my life, particularly to highlight #Movember.
Part of it was that there are stories that seem like they encapsulate more perfectly the tragedy of men dying too soon.
There always are.
I pressure myself to find the perfect illustration.
But here’s the thing: It is sad when a man, any man, passes before their time. Art is an example. Not the most tragic or “before his time” example.
But it’s there, and it’s real for us, and it makes me want to see fewer dudes die too soon.
My brother and I have a particular heart for Movember’s recent push towards better mental health and suicide prevention.

The other dimension here is to let myself off the hook from that desire for illusive perfect example or story or piece of writing. I’m human, and what I put out is inevitably imperfect. As you can sense, I’m in many ways a recovering perfectionist. Along with my grief, this is something I’ve been processing.

So I’m allowing this to be an imperfect and incomplete tribute to Art here.
Heck, there might even be typos.
Those of you who knew him can fill in the blanks with your own memories of him, as he managed to provide us with ample positive ones.
Those of you who didn’t know him can feel free to ask. I had more stories, I just didn’t want this post to be 18,000 words long.

Giving space for grieving

Grieving isn’t just a death thing. It can apply to any loss: work, relationship, location (moving)… and I shoehorned my grieving process into this Movember post to highlight this idea. As much as I’d like to see my own numbers go up for Movember, I’d as much or more like to see conversations happen to promote mental health.
Making space for grieving, seemingly big or small, feels like a part of that.

So a few quick tips as we’re pretty fresh in our grieving season.

1 a written something is nice, to me at least
Personally, we’ve thus far kept all the cards we’ve received, I think. Personally it’s partly because I’m a pack rat, but the thought counts a lot, and the emotional courage to attempt some words. Writing it down in any form is handy. To me, digital stuff like FB or email helps. The idea here is that you’re engaging and not avoiding, yet giving me the space to receive, to look at and to engage, but on my own timing and terms.

2 if you say you’re available to talk, be available
Thankfully I can’t think of any negative examples of this, just conjecting that it would suck to make the offer and then not make good on it.

3 just listen
It’s common to wonder what to say to a grieving person.
At a grieving skills seminar, we were challenged to partner up and hear that partner tell us their story. We were to just listen, not talk. Yes, that’s an option, and wow, I retained so much more by consciously not talking. Letting the other person remember, tell stories, and just express, that’s fine. In fact, it’s in one of the latest Brené Brown books (in a slightly different context) that one of the neatest things you can say, and hardest in a tough convo, is “tell me more.”

My Father-In-Law’s Poetry

One of the first things that impressed me about my father-in-law was that he had The Jungle Book author Rudyard Kipling’s poem If framed prominently in his den:

Grabbed from The Poetry Foundation 

There’s something ennobled about these words that seem like a legacy Art lived and wanted to see lived.
Not the perfect words. In fact, some sentiments like the “you’ll be a Man…!” are pretty old-school manliness that are part and parcel of what Movember mental health is actually trying to curtail, like with the #itsokman hashtag espoused here.

Anyway, thank you for following my long and winding road to the end. And what better way to end a blog post than to ask for your money? 😉 Honestly the money isn’t a big deal for me. I’d be just as happy if I touched your life, or taught or reminded you of something good.
If it’s money you want to give, by all means click on my Mo page. 

Alternately, I’d be just as much if not more happy if you gave to my brother’s Facebook fundraiser for Canadian Mental Health Association, leading up to his birthday
https://www.facebook.com/donate/487959201702143/

And yeah, here finally is my (imperfect) After pic for Movember.
Would you believe it actually takes me a full 30 days to grow a Mo like this?…

Wishing you a happy and healthy Shaved-cember in a day!