An Open Letter to My Children

Dear Children,

Death has a way of making us feel many things at once. It’s confusing, it’s painful, and it’s often wrapped in layers of emotions we don’t expect. When your mother passed away, I felt all of that—and more. But the strangest part, at first, was that I didn’t feel much at all. I was in shock, and then I was simply… empty.

It was a strange experience because I knew I was supposed to feel something deeper. But we had already gone through our divorce. I had grieved for the end of our marriage long ago. The feelings I had for your mother were no longer about our relationship but about you. When we spoke after the divorce, it was only about you. And that was rare.

When she passed, I didn’t expect to feel much for myself. But I did feel deeply for you. I was heartbroken, seeing your pain, knowing that a part of you had been torn away. No matter what kind of relationship I had with your mother, it’s always devastating to see your children lose someone they love. That’s when the anger began to set in.

I’ve wrestled with that anger, trying to understand it. Part of me felt that the way your mother passed could have been prevented. For a long time, she struggled with apathy, a sense of disinterest in so many things in life, including her health. When a doctor told her she was morbidly obese and needed to change, she chose to ignore it. She avoided taking action. And now, here we are—facing the loss of someone who could still be here.

It’s hard for me to process because this same apathy affected our marriage. It wasn’t the only reason our marriage ended, but it played a big role. She struggled to care—about herself, about me, and about her future. And I don’t say this to criticize her, but to try and make sense of my anger. Because as I watched her apathy end our marriage, I now see that it’s the same thing that ended her life.

But this isn’t about blame. Life is complex, and no one wants to feel apathetic. I tried, during our marriage, to help her through it. I wanted her to take care of herself, for herself and for you. I led by example—exercising, eating well, encouraging her to do the same—but nothing seemed to work. And now, I find myself angry at the outcome. Angry that you no longer have your mother. Angry that it was something that didn’t have to happen.

Yet, as much as I struggle with these emotions, I don’t speak ill of her to you. I never wished her harm. In fact, I wish she were still here, if only for your sake. The reality is that her passing is part of a greater tragedy—one rooted in a long history of generational trauma. She came from a family where emotional manipulation was commonplace, and her father carried his own pain, which likely came from the emotional abuse he suffered at the hands of his stepfather. That pain was passed down, and while I understand it, it doesn’t excuse what happened.

This is a difficult truth: while trauma explains a lot, it doesn’t absolve us from responsibility. Once we recognize the pain that has been handed down, we have to take steps to stop it from continuing. But sometimes, people can’t or won’t do that. And that’s why it hurts even more. Because this apathy, this disconnect from reality, was something she could have overcome. And now, because she didn’t, you are left without a mother. That’s a harsh reality, but it’s the truth.

One of you said, “I don’t understand why.” But deep down, I think we all understand why. It’s a painful truth, but her passing was tied to her long-standing habit of pretending things weren’t as bad as they really were. It’s like she disconnected from reality when faced with something unpleasant. I saw it many times when we were together, and it’s that same disconnection that took her life.

I know this letter may be hard to read, and you might not want to face these realities now. But I hope, in time, you will understand that I’m not speaking out of anger at your mother—I’m speaking out of love for you. Life is full of complexities, and emotions often tangle themselves into knots that we struggle to untie.

So what can we learn from all of this? Apathy is not just disinterest—it’s a silent killer. It creeps into your life, and if you let it take hold, it will steal away your time, your health, and even your relationships. It’s easy to pretend problems aren’t there. It’s easy to ignore the things we don’t want to face. But doing so has consequences, and sometimes, those consequences can be irreversible.

Don’t let apathy rule your life. It may seem easier in the moment, but it leads to tragedy. Take care of yourselves, face the hard truths, and don’t shy away from taking action when it’s needed. You owe it to yourselves—and to those who love you—to live fully, to care deeply, and to avoid the trap of indifference.

I love you always,
Dad

“The tragedy of life is not that it ends so soon, but that we wait so long to begin it.” William M. Lewis

Reflection

In our world today, it’s easy to point to examples of people who let apathy and avoidance rule their lives. Think about characters like Tony Stark from Iron Man, who initially chose to ignore the larger consequences of his actions, or even Frodo in The Lord of the Rings, who could have been consumed by despair but instead chose to continue. These stories reflect a universal truth: avoidance may feel easier, but true growth comes from facing the difficult realities head-on.

So, I ask you to reflect: Where in your life are you avoiding difficult truths? Where has apathy started to creep in? It’s time to confront those areas—before they become tragedies of their own.