Lessons from My Father: A Reflection Nine Years Later

Nine years ago, I lost my father to prostate cancer. As I recently found myself telling my almost-seven-year-old son about the grandfather he never got to meet, I was once again struck by how much my father was ahead of his time.

Born in 1937 in Zenica, Bosnia and Herzegovina, my father was the first in his family to attend university. He studied in Rijeka, Croatia, served in the Yugoslavian Army in Slovenia, competed in skiing, and lived with a quiet determination and deep sense of purpose. He was a professor of technical drawing and mechanical materials at the technical high school in Zenica, where he was known for being strict - but also deeply respected. Many of his former students became my friends, and I still hear how grateful they were to have had him as their teacher.

This reflection isn’t just about honoring my father’s achievements, but about recognizing how he quietly lived the values and emotional skills that I now use in my work as a psychologist. Long before psychological flexibility became a clinical term, my father modeled it. Before I ever read about mindfulness or emotion regulation, I saw him embody it in daily life.

He taught me to remain calm in difficult situations, to pause before reacting, and to face challenges with grace. He showed me what it means to be kind and empathetic while holding firm boundaries. I didn’t have the language for these things growing up - but I felt them. And although I resisted some of his guidance in my younger years, trying to find my own way, I now see how deeply those lessons took root.

My father also supported me in pursuing psychology, encouraging me to follow a path that felt aligned with who I was. Now, as I work with clients on emotional regulation, values-based living, and navigating life transitions, I realize how much of that foundation came from him.

Even after nine years, his presence is still felt. I miss him most days. And whenever I'm faced with a hard decision, I still find myself wondering, “What would my father do?” That quiet internal compass continues to guide me.

Now, as life would have it, I’m walking through another season of grief and transition. As my mother drifts deeper into the haze of dementia, grasping for fragments of the strong, resilient woman she’s always been, I’m drawing from the inner strength my father helped me build. I hope I can be her anchor now, while I also remain present and caring toward myself.

These experiences remind me - again and again - that emotional resilience isn’t about being invincible. It’s about staying connected to what matters, even in the messiness of real life. It’s about showing up - imperfectly, humanly - with compassion, courage, and flexibility.

So today, I hold space for grief and gratitude. For the ways my father shaped who I am. For the opportunity to pass on his lessons to my son. And for the strength to be present for my mother in the ways that matter most.

Thank you, Dad. I love you.