Chapter 5 – “Facing Mortality as You Lose Parents & Peers”

In Chapter 5 of the podcast, J. Thorn delves into the challenging subject of losing parents and peers. The death of parents is portrayed as a traumatic experience that compels individuals to take ownership of their lives. The loss of a contemporary prompts one to contemplate their mortality and legacy. The episode underscores that losing a parent is a deeply painful experience that alters one’s perspective on life, love, and relationships. The paradox of parental loss is that while it can liberate one to reach new heights, it is universally devastating. The episode emphasizes the importance of expressing grief as a crucial step in the grieving process.

Although it’s something we don’t like to talk about, we’re all going to lose friends, peers, and parents. The death of your parents is one of the most traumatic ordeals in your life because you realize you truly are an adult in the world. There is nobody to bail you out. You must “own your shit” as you’ll hear Matthew McConaughey tell me later in this episode.

It starts when you lose a friend or someone just a few years older than you. I didn’t know him personally, but this was my experience with Chris Cornell’s passing—you’ll also hear more about that in this episode. The loss of a contemporary forces you to consider not just your mortality, but also your legacy.

Losing a parent is a gut punch, a raw, visceral experience that changes your perspective on life, love, and relationships. It forces the “greatest fear” upon you—your mortality. As they have died, so will you.

The Ordeal is the paradox of parental loss—on the one hand, you’re free to soar. On the other, the loss is universally devastating. You lose a safety net. If not a financial one, then an emotional one. You cease to define yourself as a counterpoint to parental imperatives, or if they were shitty parents, you can no longer blame them for how your life turned out.

In his most book “Faith, Hope and Carnage,” Nick Cave talks about the impact his father’s death had on him:

“I was trying to work things out by confronting the idea that my father had actually died, you know, through writing, through words. I have since come to understand that there is little headway that we can make around grief until we learn to articulate it – speak it, say it out loud, sing about it, write it down, or whatever. There is no place to speak about grief in our regular lives. It’s just not done, so we are left with these infernal abstractions that reside in the mind, and that, perhaps, unconsciously impact our behaviour.”

Swallowing your grief

My father’s death hit me harder than I could have ever imagined, probably because it was so unexpected and swift. But from this ordeal, I’ve manifested a life I know he’d be proud of.

It’s still hard for me to articulate the impact my father’s passing had on me, which is why I’m grateful I had the opportunity to talk through, and about, the grief in several podcast episodes.

My imperative, reached through these conversations, is the necessity of forging my own way. When we suffer parental loss, this imperative is thrust upon us.

I experienced all the stages of grief, some multiple times. Whether I was discussing his death with my brother, my therapist, or my podcast guest, the same realization arose—I’m now 100% responsible for myself for the first time in my life. My mother is still around, but our relationship is different and while I know she loves me (and I love her), I also know she couldn’t help me out of a problem the way my dad could.

I think about him all the time, more fondly now. The two of us fought almost constantly when I was a teenager, and by the time he passed, I considered him one of my best friends. Nobody in my life has been as supportive and interested in my life as a full-time creative as he was, which is still hard for me to imagine given the countless hours my dad spent working on an assembly line.

My father sacrificed a lot to give me the opportunity to not have to grind out a living, and I’ll never forget that. I pursue my artistic passions to honor my father’s legacy, not in spite of what he once believed.

The Intronaut // Episode 75 // May 22, 2017

This clip is from “The Intronaut,” episode 75, first published on May 22, 2017.

In this episode, I talk about the impact Chris Cornell’s death had on me.

Chris Cornell of Soundgarden, a voice of the grunge era in the 90s, died at the age of 52. I was 46 at the time, and his death shook me to my core—what I see now as a preview of what I would feel losing my father.

I share why I identified so closely with Cornell compared to some of his contemporaries in Nirvana, Pearl Jam, and Alice in Chains, to name a few. I explain how the video for “Outshined” resonated with me as a young man from the Rust Belt, and how part of me died with Cornell.

You’ll discover that sometimes you get a sign like a tremor before an earthquake. Dealing with grief on an impersonal level can help us cope when it becomes more personal. The ordeal of death helps us to appreciate life, despite the specter of grief that can feel overwhelming. That loss can leave us feeling Outshined.

Transcript:

The music world lost another dynamic, talented, and powerful vocalist, Chris Cornell, the lead singer of Soundgarden.

I’m going to talk in this episode a little bit about that. I want to talk a little bit about the Seattle scene, the grunge era. I also want to talk about what it means to handle grief as an introvert, specifically as an INTJ. I think there are some things that are worth talking about.

I’ve been listening to a lot of Soundgarden recently. I have always been a fan of Soundgarden from very early on. I loved their mix of ‘70s heavy metal and punk attitude. Out of all the bands that came out of the grunge scene, Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, Alice in Chains, I think Soundgarden may have been the one that I connected to the most. I don’t necessarily think they’re the best, but the one that I could identify with.

I don’t want to talk about the circumstances surrounding Chris Cornell’s death, because I don’t think it really matters in the end. It doesn’t, right? I want to talk more about two things: why the death of Chris Cornell has hit me pretty hard this week, and what that means as an introvert.

The topic of death is something that has come up on the show a number of times. It’s pretty natural, because it’s something we all have to deal with in one way or another. So, there’s no shying away from it.

I think because it’s 2017, and we’ve had a lot of rock icons pass away and getting older. The industry isn’t the way it used to be. The era of mega rock stars or pop stars is kind of gone. You could argue whether that’s a good thing or not, I don’t really care all that much. My point is that the people we’ve recognized as pioneers or rock legends are going away.

Over the past few years, we lost guys like David Bowie and Prince. Those deaths were disappointing. They’re all going to go at some point. Lemmy is another one. Those were sad and I appreciated David Bowie, Prince, and Lemmy. For David Bowie and Prince in particular, though I liked Bowie but I could never identify with him. I liked his music, I was never aspiring to be on stage in makeup, in platform shoes, singing space rock. That just didn’t connect with me. It didn’t seem real to me. The same with Prince. Prince was super cool, and I remember when the song “1999” came out and how awesome that was. But I couldn’t see myself as Prince. I couldn’t identify with them as artists or people.

Now, Chris Cornell and Soundgarden, on the other hand, I totally could. I played the “Outshined” riff on my acoustic guitar. If you watch the “Outshined” video, it’s got a very Rust Belt feel to it. Growing up in Pittsburgh, living in Cleveland, spending most of my life in the Rust Belt, that video resonates. It takes place in a foundry and there’s fire, chains, dirt. It’s dark, heavy. I could relate to that. It connected to me on a soul level.

I’m sure you have music or art that connects to you in a way you can’t really explain, but you can kind of see yourself in it. So I think part of me died when Chris Cornell died, because I could relate to that.

“Badmotorfinger” came out in 1991. I was 20. That was a very formative time in my life. What’s really crazy is that, given my age and the grunge scene, I feel like I’ve kind of grown up with these guys. They almost feel like high school friends. Every time one of them passes, it hits me at a different stage in my life, and it hits me hard.

The first guy was Andrew Wood. Granted, that was 1990. I was 19, he was 24 when he died. Mother Love Bone was not mainstream, and this was pre-internet. So, I knew of Andrew Wood and Mother Love Bone. I may have heard some demos, but I wasn’t a hardcore fan. Still, I knew they were up and coming. I was working in the industry. I was working for Camelot Music at that time, so I knew it. That kind of sucked because here was a guy who was really young, had a lot of promise, and he died.

Then in 2002, Layne Staley passes away. Layne Staley was the lead singer for Alice in Chains. He was about four years older than me. He passed away when I was 31. So, again I had this sobering moment of thinking, here’s a guy who’s about my age, and he’s gone. Being 31 at the time felt really young. Thirty-one is young. He was gone.

Now, here we are, and Chris Cornell was about 52, seven years older than me, and he dies. Now, I’m 46 and I have this moment of, “Shit!” The guys that I grew up listening to when I was in my late teens, that’s the music I’ve continued to listen to. Heavy metal and the grunge stuff is the stuff I’ve listened to nonstop since it came out. I haven’t had many phases. Some people have phases. I think it’s more of a mainstream pop music kind of thing, but not me. The stuff I’ve been listening to now, I have the same CDs on my shelf that I did when I was 16 or 17 years old. So, every time one of these guys goes, it feels like part of me dies with them.

That brings me to the point of how to handle grief as an introvert. It’s not easy. I haven’t talked to too many people about it. In fact, I’ve spent a lot of time alone listening to Soundgarden and just enjoying it, as I always have, but also trying to think through what all this means, why it’s happening, and what the point of it is.

I’m not sure how you handle grief. I’m not sure whether you even know who Chris Cornell was or whether you’re a fan, but handling grief is something that has to be done. You can’t suppress it. So, I guess whatever way you come up with to handle it is the healthy way to do it.

Writers, Ink // Episode 66 // February 15, 2021

This clip is from the “Writers, Ink” podcast, episode 66, first published on February 15, 2021.

In this episode, I interview author, Academy and Emmy Award-winning actor, Matthew McConaughey.

Although Matthew McConaughey is the most famous person I’ve ever interviewed, I feel as though we connected on a human level, specifically when discussing how the death of our fathers affected us.

Matthew talks about sobering up, “owning your shit,” and going all-in on life without a safety net—in other words, being forced to forge your own way. He shares his experience of sacrificing more to get what he wanted. And when he asks me how my father’s death affected me, I explain why I’ve doubled-down on life.

You’ll discover that from movie stars to auto mechanics, we all suffer. We all must deal with loss. There’s a universal comfort in knowing that grief is common and unavoidable. The important lessons are not present at the point of departure, but more so in the thoughtful solitude that comes later. A realization that you’re truly independent, for better and worse.

Transcript:

J.: You mentioned your dad early on. I wanted to ask you something about that. You had said that for you, it was your “most seminal rite of passage” into manhood. And that really struck me because I feel like this is something I don’t see that sentiment in a lot of places, but I think it’s universally true. You were in your 20s when you lost your dad, but…

Matthew: 22? 23? I think, 22, 23.

J.: Right. So, I mean, you were a man, you know. What does it mean when you lose that safety net? If you lose your dad when you’re a man? I mean, that was really powerful.

Matthew: Well, you sober up. I mean, I think for me, the world got flat. And what I mean by that is, you know, here my dad’s teaching me things, the man who the man should be, and I’m testing it out in life and I’m acting like that young man that my dad wants me to be, the things I want to take in life, but I’m not doing it 100% because, why man? He’s got my back. He’s here. He’s above government, law. Hell, he’s even bigger than religion. If I get in a pinch he’s got my back.

All of a sudden he’s gone. Physically gone. Whoa, I got no crutch, I got no safety net, I got no hammock back there. Those things that I’ve been kind of making C’s in, those values of the man he’s been teaching me to be, that I’ve been kind of half-assing, I better either own him because he’s died and ain’t backing me anymore.

So for me, I remember it and then it, the “less impressed more involved” is what hit me in his passing along with just keep living. But the “less impressed more involved” came because I noticed there were things in the world, mortal things, that I was in awe of, people’s success, money. Wow, what if and when I would be faced with those or getting near those I get, like, shy, less involved. I’d be like too well, those things sort of lowered down to eye level. And I was like, look those in the eye man, those are mortal. Better man up on that shit.

Also, the things that I was looking down on, things that I was sloughing off, “So that’s not good enough for me, I don’t like her, him, that, the other.” I was condescending, you know, patronizing things. My, I was like, whoa, who the hell do you think you are being all high on your horse looking down on those things? Those things rose up to eye level.

So all of a sudden, that’s what I mean, when I say the world was flat. When everything became eye level, the things I revered, came down to just where I respected them. And the things I looked down upon came up to where I still respected them. I saw further and wider and clearer and stood up taller. My heart was higher. My chin was higher. My eyes would look you right in the eye and go, “Yeah, I own it. Yes. What? Guilty the way I’m going to own my shit.” It’s time to start owning it. And that’s part of becoming a man, is to start owning your shit. And not going where before dad’s alive, I’m kind of renting my shit. You know what I mean?

So, you, that goes, “You got no, I got, I don’t have that. I don’t have that landlord to take care of my bill. I got to own who I am.” And so, I gained courage in that regard and confidence in that. I learned I was willing to sacrifice more, to not sell myself short, to not sell my soul along the way.

J.: Right, right. Yeah, I mean, I lost my dad when I was 46. And I felt the same way. I felt like, I mean, I have a wife and two kids and a mortgage and a car payment. And yet I felt like, no matter what, I still had my dad like, I still could fall back on him. And then I didn’t and even as a grown man, it was a jarring situation.

Matthew: What did it do? What did it do to you? 46? How long ago was it?

J.: Two, two years ago? Three?

Matthew: Did you get re-energized anything? Did you invest more in your family? Did you invest more in certain things that became more important to you? Things that already were important to you today become more important? Did you double down on some of those things?

J.: I doubled down on life, man, I just, you know. I mean, my dad went at 70. I knew your dad was much younger, but 70 these days isn’t old and he was gone like that. And I was like, man, I got to, you know, I got to be making the most of every day and not that I wasn’t but I still, I felt this added emphasis of making the most of every minute.

Matthew: Yeah, yeah, someone asked me this morning, you know, my dad when I went to decide to go to film school which led to me starting what’s now become a career, his words to me was “don’t half-ass it.”

And I was reminded this morning, well how much of him saying that to me, and me feeling like, “Oh, I’m not only doing this for me, I gotta do it for him, too,” has been part of maybe why I’ve succeeded at achieving what I’ve achieved at it.

Because before, for me, before I started film school, and he gave me the approval and the privilege and the freedom to go pursue a career in storytelling, everything else I’d done in life was a fad. Everything else I’d said, “Please, come on, invest in me in this dad.” They were a little bit hobby fads that I’d never followed through on. So the fact that my dad lived five days into my first role in “Dazed & Confused,” little serendipitous for me, because I’m like, oh, he was alive for me to start the one damn thing that I’m gonna finish.

J.: The one thing he gave you the nod on? You didn’t think you were gonna get?

Matthew: Yeah, yeah.

Writers, Ink // Episode 15 // March 2, 2020

This clip is from the “Writers, Ink” podcast, episode 15, first published on March 2, 2020.

In this episode, I interview the international bestselling author of “Fight Club,” Chuck Palahniuk.

Chuck shares his fear of what would have happened if he had introduced his dad to Winona Ryder during the filming of “Fight Club.” His humorous but honest relief when he realizes his worst fear won’t be realized reminds us that socially inappropriate reactions are a great source of humor, and that humor is how we connect to the universal experience of loss.

We discuss Nora Effron’s allusion to the death of our parents, a time when we finally become completely free. Again, the concept of forging our own way is evident.

You’ll discover that some of the best humor comes from dark places, a subtle yet persistent reminder that nobody escapes suffering. Even inappropriate jokes or mistimed laughter can help you remember that your grief is normal, and that it will pass. It’s what the departed would want for us.

Transcript:

J.: I was wondering if maybe you could tell your Winona Ryder story, because I think that’s a great way of exemplifying how you approach cognitive reframing.

Chuck: Oh, dear God, I can’t remember my Winona Ryder story.

J.: This is with your dad, before he passed.

Chuck: Oh no, my poor dad. Yeah. Oh, yeah, my father. It was when they were first talking about making the “Fight Club” movie, and they were discussing the casting the role of Marla Singer.

My father was so taken with the book. Suddenly, my father and I had this common ground because he thought the book was about his father. And I wasn’t going to break his heart by saying, “No, it’s about you, dad.” So, we had this place to meet. He was so proud of this book.

And when they were talking about a movie, he instantly thought of Winona Ryder because physically, she seemed to embody the physicality of the Marla Singer character.

My father, who was always a ladies’ man, started talking about, “Is there any chance you’re going to introduce me to Winona Ryder? I’d really like to meet her. That would be something. How about introducing the old man to Winona Ryder?”

And I was just terrified that somehow my father was going to be on location, and he was going to hit on Winona Ryder. It was going to be an ugly scene with my father putting the moves on Winona Ryder. It became this big, dark fear in my life.

And so, God bless him, when my father was murdered, one of my first odd, inappropriate reactions was this huge relief. At least he wasn’t going to be putting the moves on Winona Ryder.

J.: You’ve spoken too about how you had a similar situation when your mom was sick. And I think you said Nora Ephron kind of talked about it too, where you have this cognitive reframing about what your mother’s passing is going to mean to you, personally, and how that can be socially awkward when you verbalize it.

Chuck: Right. Nora Ephron never really wrote about it, but she did allude to it. This kind of feeling that in writing about the Barbara Howard autobiography in the 1970s, Barbara Howard made this passing remark It was only upon the death of her mother that Barbara herself ever felt completely free and independent in the world.

It was something that Nora Ephron had wished that Barbara Howard had written about more extensively because later, Nora herself, when her mother was dying, she felt that same kind of hidden glee. That same kind of suppressed feeling that is only with the death of both our parents that we ever really feel like we come into a kind of fully-fledged independence and adulthood.

Closing Thoughts

I had to include this episode because I knew you will have already suffered this loss or you will in the near future. The death of our parents is something we all must face.

As a writer, I processed my grief by writing a father-son novel set in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. The book is called, “THE LAST TOWER,” and there will be more about it later if you’re interested in it.

In a strange way, my father’s death was my catalyst. It forced me to see life for what it really is—short. I started seeing every day as an opportunity, because tomorrow is not guaranteed. Even though my mother is still an important part of my life, my dad’s passing reinforced the imperative that I must find my own way.

I’ll always be my father’s son, but I’m now my own man. And without going too hippy on you—“circle of life” and all that—I’m still my children’s father. Now I know what “legacy” means and I plan to honor it in both directions.

Losing your parents is a significant ordeal. It can take months or even years before you feel as though you’re functional again. But with this ordeal comes reflection and revelations. You no longer view the world the way you once did, and often, you begin to appreciate things you previously took for granted. You’re now independent to move through your world without catering to your parents’ expectations, a paradox that is difficult to understand. But this is the gift you receive from the ordeal, the hope on grief’s horizon. This is the Reward you covet despite the pain involved earning it.

Question

Have you lost a parent? What has the loss set you free to do or be? If not, what ordeal has shaped who you’ve become?

Up next…

In the next chapter of the story, you’ll accept your Reward and take the road back. From the depths of grief, you return to the world with a desire to help others through their ordeals.

Credits

Mentorship by Brian Clark, Jerod Morris, and Trudi Roth

Podcast concept by Jerod Morris

Written, narrated, and produced by J. Thorn

Editing by Miranda Weingartner and Trudi Roth

Audio editing and production by J. Thorn

“Twisted” and “RetroFuture” courtesy of Kevin MacLeod at incompetech.com

Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0 at creativecommons.org