I'm Glad My Dad Died
By Alben Osaki
I was eating dinner (mac and cheese if I recall correctly) when my dad died. I had just turned 11 years old a week prior. I remember sitting in the hospital room with him, just beginning to eat. The next thing I remember was his doctor walking up to me, kneeling down, and telling me that he was gone.
It was the first major, memorable, life-altering moment of my life.
The author with his father in elementary school.
I grew up on the tiny island of Kaua`i, in Hawai`i. It is, or at least was, small-town living. It’s where Dad grew up, and where my grandparents did too. Everyone knew everyone. You’d run into friends or family all the time at the grocery store or local restaurants. The local movie theater had like four screens. I loved it and was convinced I would never leave. I think my dad could sense that in me. He would often joke that I would grow up, join the Navy like he did, and leave the island.
And I did leave the island, not because of military service, but because he passed away. He battled colon cancer for years before he finally succumbed to it. Afterward, I went to live in Honolulu, on Oahu, with my mom. I went to a new school, lived in a much bigger city, and had to make new friends and figure out a new routine.
It took a long time to adjust. I went from living in a house my whole life to living on the tenth floor of an apartment building. I went from playing baseball and riding my bike in the streets of the neighborhood to visiting friends at their apartments, because the streets were too busy to play baseball or ride bikes in. My dad used to take me fishing and crabbing all the time. He bought an inflatable raft from Kmart and set me out onto the large Wailua River with just a walkie-talkie and a paddle to go pull up crab nets.
Then he died, and I ended up in the big city and spent most of my time in front of a screen. I was a crab out of water and had to adjust to city living almost overnight. It was a lot to handle as an 11-year-old. I hated it for a long time. But it taught me something that has stuck with me for the rest of my life: Things tend to work themselves out.
My parents divorced when I was still a baby. I don’t have any memories of them living together. My earliest memories of them together are of my dad dropping me off to stay with my mom for the weekend. Those are the only in-person interactions I ever remember them having. The first weekend of every month, like clockwork.
I used to have a lot of anxiety about my dad for no apparent reason. I used to think that something awful might happen to him while I was away. I remember one weekend while visiting my mom—I was probably about 8 years old—-I was up late, crying, because I was so sure that something had happened to him. I didn’t know about the colon cancer at the time. I just had a gut feeling that something had happened. I told my mom, and she called him and let me talk to him on the phone.
Everything was fine.
If you asked me twenty years ago if I wished that my dad never died, I would have said yes in a heartbeat. Today, the answer to that question is so much more complicated. I’ve lived the majority of my life with him gone. He built this great foundation for the person I am now, but it was everything after his death that shaped who I became. If he’d never died, my life trajectory would have been completely different. I would have never met the same people, eaten the same foods, lived in the same places, or fallen in and out of love in the same way. I never would have experienced the life I’ve lived. I love rock climbing, I’m in a great relationship, I’ve traveled to so many countries and met so many amazing people. None of that would have happened if he hadn’t died. At least, not in the way that it did. While his death was a tragedy, my life after that death continued on an upward trend.
It’s been an uncomfortable balance to think about. Would I be willing to give up the life and experience I have now to be able to change the past? I don’t think it’s worth mulling over too much. What’s happened has happened. But it’s a thought experiment I like to perform occasionally. As absurd as it feels to type, in many ways, his death was a gift. Tragedy and challenges occur to everyone in life. But we’re so much stronger and adaptable than we tend to give ourselves credit for. As Jurassic Park’s Dr. Ian Malcolm would say, “Life, uh, finds a way.”
The author’s father’s U.S. Navy recruit company (left) and the author’s own recruit division (right). Photographs taken 50 years apart.
I wish I could speak with him, sure. I wish he could see me today. Kick back with a beer and catch up, like old friends who haven’t seen each other in a long time. I occasionally wonder what he would think of me. If he would be proud. He raised me for 11 years but never got the chance to know how I turned out. All I can do now is to try my best to be someone who would’ve made him proud. (I did end up joining the Navy and leaving Hawai`i, so I guess he got that part right.)
Every time I made a big life-altering decision, whether it was joining the military or moving to New York City to go to college, it always worked out. I’m not saying that it wasn’t scary or hard. But with a little bit of time and effort, things in my life have always seemed to turn out for the better, whether it’s the people I meet, the places I see, or the experience of diving into something new. I realized pretty quickly in life that the world is full of great people and amazing experiences. It’s just up to us to make that leap, to go out there and find them.
If my dad never died, I might still be on that tiny island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, living my small-town life. Maybe my life would be better, or maybe not. There’s no point in speculating. But what I can say is, I’m happy with how my life has turned out thus far. And none of it would have happened if he didn’t die.
I was 11, sitting at the edge of my dad’s hospital bed at Wilcox Memorial Hospital in Lihue on Kaua`i. I was crying incessantly. All I could mutter, between gasps for air and crying, was telling my now-deceased father that I loved him. It was well into the evening. My mac and cheese was cold. I think I ate two or three bites before he passed. I couldn’t eat another bite after that. I didn’t know what was going to happen to me. My dad, who was up until that point the most important person in the world to me, was gone. But what I didn’t realize at the time was that with his final breath, he was going to teach me one of the greatest life lessons I could have ever received.
Things tend to work out.
Alben Osaki is a photojournalist and filmmaker residing in South Texas, with a focus on the outdoors. You can find more of his work on his website.
