Dying 3 Times: On Life, Love and Loss

In memory of the greatest man who ever lived in my lifetime, my father Albert Walter Kearley, 1933–2017

Standing in the airport, waiting for my plane, talking with my dad about the new life I had in store for me was one of the most difficult things I have ever done.

Let me explain.

I think I had always been favoured in my dad’s eyes. I was the third child and the baby of the mix and I was born with certain challenges. Right in the middle of my heart, I was born with a hole that leaked blood into my lungs every night when I slept, and every night my father would come in, calm my crying and clean me up and be there with me as I fell back to sleep.

When the doctors discovered what was wrong, I was 4 years old and not like all the other kids in my neighbourhood. I was different: I was pale coloured, listless and very little enthusiasm for anything. I’d have to have surgery.

And when the surgeon gave my father the choice to operate or not, they didn’t give very good odds on the surgery, it was 60/40 if they did operate and it was going to be a difficult one where they’d go in through my back, lift my scapula, break my ribs and get at the valve that way to sew it closed. At the time, this was a pioneer surgery in Newfoundland, having only been done 1 time before. In what was typical of my father, he chose to let them operate, and put his faith in God and the Doctors. My heart did stop for a little while that day on the operation table, and technically I died, but the surgeon was good at his work and he closed that door. But in a manner of speaking I owe my life to my father for making that decision. That was 53 years ago this year.

But that was so much like my father. He would always take calculated risks and then would plough on through the hurdles and challenges.

Then, around the time of the surgery, my mother decided that she’d had enough of raising 3 boys, and couldn’t handle having one as sick as I was, so she packed the little Black Volkswagen Beetle and left us, leaving only Dad and us three boys together to navigate life. And, once again, he stepped into the breech and taught us to survive and be self sufficient. By the age of 6 I was cooking supper for the family, taking turns with my brothers as my dad was out making a living as an appliance repairman. We thrived together, and we loved each other deeply. But that’s the kind of man he was.

So, there we were at the airport. Me with my ticket in my hand and dad lingering close doling out advice that was supposed to prepare me for the next chapter I was embarking on, his voice husky with emotion. I had second thoughts, and it was very hard for me to be going, but I knew I had to go, and so did he. When the flight was called and I turned to go, both of us with tears in our eyes did the customary hug and handshake, and a little piece of me died inside again. I knew I could never go back. I knew it, and he did as well.

On Valentines day this year, after 6 long years of institutional existing, suffering from Parkinson’s disease, dementia and many other things, in the middle of a raging snowstorm, my dad took his last breath and caught his final flight and was gone.

And a third piece of me died along with him.

And I wasn’t there to give him his hug and handshake.

I had been to visit a few days earlier, but he was in a morphine coma and I couldn’t talk with him, and trying to have quiet time with him as my step brother argued with my step mother, across my father’s comatose body about the merits and the existence of Christianity was next to impossible, and hard to take.

This was a little much for me, and so, with the impending storm, we decided to catch an early flight and leave before we got caught in it and had to stay for the next few days. Then on Tuesday, at 4 in the morning, Dad had had enough and quietly slipped away.

I missed him at 19 when I left, but he was always there to call and visit, but I really miss him now that I can’t hear his voice or feel his embrace.

How do you fill that void?

As I write, I am reminded of my favourite movie quote, that describes my father: “Every man dies, but not every man lives” from Braveheart.

That quote describes my Father to a “T”:

• He was a community man, giving endless time to building people and places and was inducted into the local sports hall of fame.
• He was an artist who almost always had some project on the go. When he knew that he would be going in to an institution and probably never coming out, he made his own Urn for his ashes.
• He was a man who always took the positive side of things and went with the odds, betting on success every time.
• When he worked at anything, whether building a house or fixing a customers stove, he never quit until it was better than when he found it.
• He didn’t just leave a legacy, he IS one.

He lived!

Now that he is gone, I often wonder if I am living much like him at all, and I can’t honestly say that I am all the time, but the more I think about him, the more I want to BE like him, and so, as he did in life, he is still challenging me to step up to the plate and take my best swing at life and to have a life well lived.

If I have learned anything about living a life well lived, it’s this: 1. Make the best of what you are faced with instead of whining about the cards you are dealt, 2. be an artist and make something good out of it that you will be proud of and 3. make every person feel important, and you will always have friends and the respect that goes along with it.

I have an expert to follow and emulate.

He made an Impact, and so can you and I.

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My vision is quite simple: to make an impact on the lives of the people who have been entrusted to me: You (for reading this article), my family and my clients.

I coach people. Direct, practical, innovative, meaningful.I coach for excellence.I love what I do… and so do my clients.

Over the years I’ve noticed that business coaching that was supposed to make us stronger actually took away our confidence and made us doubt ourselves. Confidence and people skills aren’t developed just by measuring and planning everything, they grow through doing and learning from experience and by taking risks. People want to make a difference. Build teams. Be better understood. Live more confidently.

I choose to create a world where business people communicate and act with confidence to create better worlds for themselves. Worlds where they feel powerful and free to express themselves. Worlds where something as simple as conversation creates energy, understanding and impact. Worlds so exquisite, I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

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