“I’ve learned in love and death we don’t decide” - Dermot Kennedy

To those that know me best, they will not be surprised in the slightest that the focus of an early blog post of mine is Dermot Kennedy. Dermot is an Irish singer/songwriter I first discovered in 2017. At the time, he had not yet released an album and only a few songs were available on Apple Music. By the time 2018 had finished, 7 of my top 10 most listened to songs of that year were Dermot Kennedy songs. He'd release his first album in late 2019, another in late 2022 and hopefully a third very soon. Sam and I first saw him perform in a small theatre in the University District of Seattle in November 2018. There couldn't have been more than 100 people there that night. Our last time seeing him was May 2023 in front of a sold out Rogers Arena crowd. It's cool to feel like we've witnessed his growth as an artist but his increase in popularity is not surprising at all. He's no doubt impacted many people through his music as he has me. And that impact is what I want to write about today.

This picture was taken at that first Seattle show. November 15, 2018 at Neptune Theatre in Seattle, WA. 

I'm going to highlight some of his songs and lyrics that have impacted me most, share some personal stories connected to them and tell you all why Dermot's songwriting has meant so much to me as I've navigated through some challenging times in my life; including the moments recently that have challenged me the most.


It's the summer of 2018. It's a beautiful July day and we are spending it at our trailer in the US. For the past 4 years, this has been where we had spent most of our summer days. Only this year is different. My mom isn't here with us. A few short months earlier she had finally lost a courageous battle with cancer. My mom was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2004 and bravely won her first battle. But the second one proved unbeatable even as she tried desperately to defy the odds. We had bought the trailer together in 2014 before her second diagnosis and enjoyed so many amazing summer days together just like this over the proceeding few years. But here I am on this day in the summer of 2018 on our deck; cold beer in my hand, manning the BBQ and listening to a song that had been on repeat for months. All My Friends by Dermot Kennedy. The chorus begins and this simple line brings me to tears:


Some summer night, I hope I see you again


I miss my Mom. And this line forces me to acknowledge it. I knew she was going to pass away. Her health had been in decline for months and her death was inevitable. I thought that might make it easier for me. It did not. And as hard as I had tried to just move on with my life, I knew in this moment, I wasn't yet ready. 

This picture of my mom is from August 2014. Our first summer at the trailer. And likely the very same spot I was in 4 years later in 2018 during the moment I shared above.

Dermot's first full album wouldn't release until late 2019 but a few of its singles would release earlier in the year. It's April of 2019 and we are days away from the one year anniversary of my mom's passing. Dermot releases a song called Lost. I'm still struggling a bit and, in this moment, I'm not doing particularly well. I can't exactly pinpoint why but I've just been in a rut and I haven't been able to get out of it. I'm listening to Lost for the first time and this line just clobbers me over the head:


My sense of wonder's just a little tired


YES!!! That's exactly how I feel!!! I'm still me, I love my family and I have a good life. But this grief just has a strong grip on me.


A few months later my daughter, Kaitlynn, would tell me that when she hears that song, she thinks about me. And how I had, in her words, been there for her. I think that's what's so cool about music in general but, in this case, specifically Dermot's writing style. He's not direct with his lyrics. Instead, he uses imagery and symbolism to tell his stories. So it's up to the listener to decide what he's trying to say. I'm sure this is intentional as it allows for a song to connect with each listener differently. To me, this song came at a time where I felt lost because I was trying to adjust to life without my mom. And, for Kaitlynn, it came at a time where she might have been reflecting on past struggles and thinking about how she had persevered so bravely.

Kaitlynn joined Sam and I at a Dermot concert in January 2020 at UBC Thunderbird Arena

It's October 2019 and I'm currently midway through running a half marathon in Victoria. For anyone who has run a race like this, they will know most times you hit a wall around that midway point. And, at this precise moment, I've hit that wall hard. My training had taken a bit of a detour in the weeks leading up to the race. In late September, my father fell ill shortly after he had returned from a trip. What he had likely assumed was a bad flu had escalated so significantly that he was rushed to hospital on September 21st and was only seconds away from losing his life. While he did survive, the illness would wreak some serious havoc on his body. In time, he would have both lower legs and both lower arms amputated and face years of recovery and rehabilitation. He'd soon be an inspiration to many people as he challenges their belief of what they thought was possible. But, at this time, my father remained in the ICU and his future was very much uncertain. Like most races, I'm running with my AirPods and using music to help distract my mind from the task at hand. But the music hasn't worked this time. My mind is drifting and I find myself thinking about what I would say if I had to give a eulogy at my father's funeral. My mind is in a weird place and I'm very aware this is an awful thing to be thinking about. But the past few weeks have been tough. I'd only recently lost my mom and now here I was considering the very real possibility that I would lose my dad too. I need to get my mind back on track. Not for the race but just for my own well being. I refocus my attention to my AirPods and I'm now listening to a live version of a song called After Rain. By this time, I had seen Dermot in concert a few times and this is the song he ends every concert with. The intensity of the song builds slowly through each verse and by the end, the crowd will sing loudly the final chorus in unison. And then repeat itself again and again and again. Each time with more intensity than the last. The lines being sung louder and louder are:


You won't go lonely, yeah
You won't go lonely, yeah
You won't go lonely, yeah
You won't go lonely, yeah
It'll all be better in the mornin'


In this case, it's less about the words being spoken and more the intensity in which they are sung. And, in this moment, I need that intensity. To shift my focus away from my worst fears; worrying about a future that's not yet determined for me and back towards hope and determination. I'd finish the race strong, my mind never wandered back to those dark places again and my dad continues to provide us all with reasons to be hopeful and determined. 

At the finish line of that half marathon. Found this cute kid there :)

My dad, Ginny, Sam, myself, Carter and Sofia at our trailer in August of 2022

It's spring of 2020 now and Samantha is well into her 9 month pregnancy with our second child together. It'll be a couple months yet until we meet our beautiful new addition to our family but it's time to pick some names. We're both secretly rooting for the baby to be a girl and, because of this, it feels like we are putting more energy into the girl names. We both wanted the girl name to honour Sam's Mexican heritage. And it wouldn't take too long for us to agree on her first name; Sofia. And her middle name would take even less time....and that middle name would be...Kennedy

Perfect. From the very beginning

It's August 11, 2023 now. It's been a few weeks since we found out Sofia has cancer. Long enough for the initial shock to have worn off and I'm starting to crack. I had been so strong this whole time to this point. I didn't break on July 19th when we first heard the news. I didn't break when we'd later hear from our oncologist  about the high risk nature of her cancer. I didn't even break when Sofia's chemo began. But today, Sofia's starting to not look like herself anymore. She's so skinny now. She hasn't eaten for a while and is on a feeding tube to make sure she's getting her nutrients. She's got a few sores on her body that just don't seem to want to heal. And her hair is starting to fall off in bunches. For the first time, she looks sick to me. I'm starting to get angry and I'm strongly considering taken her home without permission. I would give anything to just rewind the clock a month before all of this started. Sofia is tired so she's sleeping a lot and, on this day, I know I, too, need to try to sleep. The sounds of the hospital are persistent. A beep to tell the nurse the feeding tube needs a refill. Another beep to tell them the chemo is done. Another because the line is not flowing properly. A constant heartbeat sound another machine that's tracking her heart rate and her blood pressure. I eventually get numb to it all but, for today, I need to shut them out. I throw on my headphones and close my eyes. The song, Better Days, comes on and the final verse goes like this:


Your story's gonna change
Just wait for better days
You've seen too much of pain
Now, you don't even know
That your story's gonna change
Just wait for better days
I promise you, I won't let go


I've been feeling so low and it just hurts so much to see Sofia suffer like she is. But these lines strike a firm chord and a sense of optimism and hope overwhelms those feelings of anger and sadness that had lingered all day.


Sofia's story does change. She has a lot of better days. And, of course, I never let go. And never will.

Sofia together on the day I referenced above. August 11, 2023

This picture gives you an idea how many machines could be beeping at anytime. These particular machines delivered a host of medicine and fluids to Sofia through her central line. She was physically attached to these machines for many days and nights.

It's February of 2024 now. Sofia had suffered a setback in December when her tumour, which had mostly been removed in an earlier surgery, had grown back unexpectedly. Her original treatment plan had to be adjusted. Things had been going well since then though, and the two rounds of chemo that were added appeared to have worked well. But the most recent week had been tough. Sofia had just finished her first round of immunotherapy treatment and it was very hard. To make things worse, I wasn't even there to support Samantha or be there to provide comfort to Sofia. Carter and I had been away in Mexico while Sofia received that first immunotherapy treatment. Samantha did an incredible job hiding the truth from me while I was away but it was clear that this week was a much bigger challenge than most. I should have been there. To this day, it's one of my only regrets during the time Sofia was sick.


During that first week of immunotherapy, Dermot released a song that would come to mean so much to Samantha and I. A song called Lucky. A song that would later play aloud while hundreds of people blew bubbles into the air as we celebrated Sofia's life together. I still remember the first time I played the song for Samantha. It was the week after Carter and I had returned. Sofia is home now and feeling better. We are, once again, optimistic. The part of the song that stands out the most is:


If you're so lucky that she lets you know her heart
Be careful how you hold it
If you're so worried that the afterlife is dark
Then make sure that she knows this
She is loved, she is loved, she is loved
She is loved, she is loved, she is loved


Those lines could not have hit harder. Our eyes fill up as we both fight back tears. Sofia isn't gone yet though. We hold firm to our optimism that the adjusted treatment plan will work. So, in this moment, I focus mostly on the final 3 lines. I have no doubt in my mind she knows she is loved. I have loved her with an intensity I'd never offered before. And she feels every bit of it. 

The picture below is from May 24, 2024. Sofia's Celebration of Life. This is the moment the crowd made their way outside and blew bubbles in unison while the song, Lucky, played in the background.

It's now April 2024. Sofia's courageous battle was over. She fought as hard as she could. Losing her on the 14th wasn't as hard as I feared it might be. But missing her everyday since is much, much harder than anyone can imagine. Most days since she left us, I move swiftly between feelings of intense sadness and an equally acute sense of gratitude. A lyric from Dermot Kennedy's song Sunday fits this like a glove:

Who am I to curse the past?
Just 'cause magic didn't last
You're one of few, boy.
Who can safely say they had
Someone truly love them back?


This verse becomes my daily mantra. It's how I cut through the pain of losing my baby girl. Sofia was so much more than I could have ever asked for. She was perfect. She had an incredible life and she gave us all everything she had to give. She was magic. And it's not her fault (or mine) that it didn't last longer. These lyrics put me in a place of gratitude rather than sadness. I was Sofia's dad. Nobody else can say that. How could I not feel grateful?

I felt like I might need to be reminded a few times. So I wrote it in ink. My first tattoo. I read this aloud to myself many times a day. Also happens to be the name of this blog. 

One final lyric and song to talk about. The song is called Lessons. And this is a verse that means more to be now than I when I first heard it. Takes me back to those final few days with Sofia. I think it's beautiful and I hope you will too.


Her heart was still bereft and all
Sick and tired of stepping on
Shine, my darling, never leave the light
I hate to see you skeptical
Hugs that never helped at all
Things that I've accepted in this life
Loss was unacceptable
Wish we could have kept it all
I've learned in love and death we don't decide
So sing until it fills the halls
Sing until the curtain falls
Jealous of the ocean 'til those eyes