FATHERS AND THEIR GRIEF

 

 

 

I sometimes wonder how parents survive the death of a child.

I remember John Q, the film where Denzel Washington takes an entire emergency room hostage in a desperate attempt to save his critically ill son. I think, too, of Eric Clapton, who famously channeled the tragic loss of his young son into "Tears in Heaven." Yet many others find no song to write, no stage upon which to perform their sorrow. Still, they endure.

I thought of this when Gary Granada arrived in Balete, shortly after the fortieth day of remembrance for his daughter, Kiel. He had come with Luke, his younger daughter, to continue work on a project we had begun more than a year earlier. Alongside Caitlin, Bryan, Mayann and our partners in the Local Government Unit, the Department of Education, and Societrix, he was helping develop contextualized learning materials for Citizenship Education.

What struck me was not simply that Gary came, but that he came while grieving.

During an earlier visit, Gary had quietly mentioned that Teacher Kiel had been instrumental in developing some of the very materials our educators in Balete were refining. To honor her contribution, we intend to publish these as learning handouts for Grade 10 students. In this way, her work will continue to speak to young minds long after her passing.

The months that followed brought a steady rhythm of plans, writeshops, meetings, and curriculum discussions. Schools across the district were introduced to the project. We spoke of books, policy, and ordinances. Life, as it always does, pressed forward.

Yet I refused to believe that Gary had somehow suspended his grief for the occasion.

He had publicly thanked those who offered prayers and condolences, apologizing for limiting his availability in the months ahead. But prior commitments, he maintained, would continue as scheduled. It was not a denial of loss; it was simply his way of carrying it.

Perhaps this is how some fathers grieve.

Their sorrow is not always visible. They do not always speak of it or display it for the world to see. They retreat backstage—sometimes slipping quietly into a dark comfort room—before stepping back out to face the work that awaits them. To a casual observer, they may appear composed, even untouched.

But grief has not left them.

It walks quietly beside them, accompanying them to appointments, conversations, and unfinished work. It waits in the silences between tasks and visits them when no one is watching.

Some fathers write songs. Others return to the work that still needs doing. Both are forms of remembrance. Both are acts of love.

And like the rest of us, they grieve.

 

 

October 31, 2026