Reflecting on My Father’s Passing
By Dennis Prager
This piece was first published in August 2014 following the passing of Dennis’ father, Max Prager.
Here are some reflections on losing a parent.
- Longevity
Having parents who live long lives is a tremendous blessing. Their longevity allows them to witness the journey of their children into adulthood, potentially meeting grandchildren, but more significantly, it provides ample time for healing and reconnection. If my father had passed away during my teenage years, we would not have experienced the years that brought us closer together.
- Age at Passing
Born on July 18, 1918, my father passed away on August 16, 2014, reaching 96 years of age.
When news of a parent’s death reaches others, the first question that often arises is, “How old was he/she?” This curiosity is quite natural, but it merits deeper consideration. The age at which a parent dies becomes a factor primarily in discussions of whether the loss is perceived as tragic. Clearly, losing someone at 96 is less tragic, especially since my father enjoyed robust health for most of his life.
Nevertheless, the age of a parent at death does not diminish the emotional void left behind. One could argue that the longer someone has shared their life with a parent, the larger the gap may feel.
- Influence and Legacy
Just as children can evoke pride or disappointment in their parents, the reverse is equally true—parents can be a source of pride or shame for their children, often in even more pronounced ways.
This became evident to me through my own experiences. Whenever I introduced my parents to others, I felt an immense pride in who they were. They embodied dignity and grace.
On deeper reflection, I realized that adverse parental behavior can wield a heavy influence on their children, including adults, compared to the negative actions of children. If a well-respected person’s son commits a serious crime, we often feel sympathy for the parent. Conversely, if a reputable parent’s actions lead to their child’s downfall, the stigma unfairly falls on the child. A tragic example is the suicide of one of Bernard Madoff’s sons, burdened by the weight of his father’s misdeeds. In contrast, few parents face similar despair over their child’s wrongdoings.
If your parents bring you pride, cherish that truth and celebrate it.
- Beyond Closeness
My father had a profound love for my mother—more than anything else in his life. Their marital bond lasted 69 years, with 73 years together in total. This dynamic often meant that my brother and I were secondary to their emotional connection, much like residents in someone else’s home. Their long lives were a gift, giving them the duration needed to express more love.
Yet, what I treasured in my father transcended mere emotional closeness: he provided a strong ethical and moral example. An invisible yet influential mantra—”What Would Dad Do?”—has shaped my decisions. Ideally, a son should share both emotional intimacy and ethical guidance with their father. However, if one must choose, the latter holds greater significance than the former.
- Transitioning into Adulthood
No matter your age, as long as your parent is living, there’s always a part of you that remains a child. The moment both parents pass, this identity shifts dramatically. Suddenly, not only are you no longer a child, but you also find yourself next in line.
- Writing an Autobiography
In his later years, after much persuasion from me, my father agreed to pen his autobiography. He never ceased to express his gratitude for this. His story, which can be explored at www.maxprager.com, is a fascinating narrative of an Orthodox Jew who served in the U.S. Navy during World War II. Yet, every individual has a noteworthy story to tell. Writing an autobiography is a remarkable legacy; everyone should take the time to do it.
- Where Is My Father Now?
Has anyone ever lost someone dear without pondering their current state? This question lies at the core of our human experience: What happens after the final breath? Was my father once a vibrant, meaningful individual and then simply reduced to lifeless matter in an instant?
If there is no existence beyond death—if all that remains is eternal nothingness—then life, for the majority of humankind, is indeed a cruel joke.
Logically, I have always believed that if God exists and is just, there must be an afterlife. Alternatively, if there is no God, then this physical reality is all there is. Both viewpoints hold merit. What does not seem plausible is a belief in God without an afterlife. To reject the concept of an afterlife inherently leans towards atheism.
Consequently, since I find atheism to be an untenable position—after all, how could something as profound as Bach emerge solely from rocks?—I choose to believe in an afterlife, envisioning my father reunited with my mother.
Farewell, Dad. You lived a good life.
