A note from Connor’s Grandma: My son, using AI, superimposed himself today — his arm around his 17-year-old self. His post says it all, and I hope it brings you some meaning, some hope, some comfort, and most of all, love.
Here is what Connor’s Dad (John) wrote:
Two Johns, 17 and 54, standing shoulder to shoulder on a quiet path that neither of us can fully see.
If the 54-year-old me could speak to that 17-year-old kid, the hardest question would not be about success or failure, but this: would I tell him about the day his world will shatter?
Since that picture of “young me,” life gave me so much I could never have imagined then — a wife I love, a career I’m proud of, two incredible children, and countless moments of laughter, pride, and ordinary days that felt simple and good.
And then, four years ago, everything changed when my youngest son died by suicide at 19. There are no words big enough for that kind of loss. It cut straight through the story I thought my life was telling and forced me to learn how to breathe, walk, and live all over again in a world that suddenly felt both unfamiliar and unfair.
So, would I warn that 17-year-old?
Part of me would want to scream “Yes” and wrap him in armor. I would want to somehow change the ending, to claw back the future with sheer determination and love. I would want to tell him:
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- Hold your kids even closer.
- Listen even harder.
- Don’t assume you’ll have all the tomorrows you think you do.
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But another part of me knows that if I told him everything, it might steal the light from all the days in between. He might hold back from joy, from love, from fatherhood itself, out of fear of an unthinkable pain waiting down the road. And buried inside this broken, grieving 54-year-old is also a man shaped by love, by commitment, by showing up for his family and his work, and by the bond with a son who is no longer here but will always be part of him.
So maybe I wouldn’t tell him the specific tragedy. Maybe I would tell him this instead:
- Love without holding back, even though it will one day break your heart in ways you cannot imagine.
- Pay attention to the quiet hurts in the people you love, and never assume silence means “I’m okay.”
- Take every picture, have every conversation, say every “I love you,” because life is both more beautiful and more fragile than you know.
- When the worst happens — and one day something will — you will feel like you cannot survive it. But you will. Not because it gets “fixed,” but because love doesn’t end, even when a life does.
If that younger John could look at this picture, he would see an older man with more lines on his face, a little more weight on his shoulders, and a kind of grief he doesn’t yet have words for. But he would also see someone who kept going, who built a family, who loved his kids deeply, and who is still here — standing in the same frame.
Would I tell him about the tragedy? Maybe not in detail. But I would take him by the shoulders, look him in the eyes, and say:
“Your life will be filled with incredible love and unimaginable pain. Don’t let the fear of the pain keep you from the love. And someday, when you’re standing where I am, you will wish for one more ordinary day with your boy — so treat every ordinary day as the miracle it really is.”
