Jeremy Potter
Loss of Best friend, Brad, and Loss of Mother, Holly
Hi Jeremy! Tell us, what’s your story?
This is a great question. I’ve taken to trying to change my standard questions at dinner parties and school events so I can more quickly get to the real person rather than surface responses. So, I’ll do that here. My identity is that of a curious person, a social person, a leader, a question-asker, and, perhaps most importantly, a husband and father. Of course I have a career that consumes way too much of my time. I am an attorney and business leader working in housing and consumer finance. But the jump to profession leaves so much out. I tend to gravitate to podcasts, reading, writing and friends. That’s where I spend my time and that’s probably the only free time I have. I wish I could tell you that I have a fitness routine or something but it’s been long enough now that I have to admit it’s a goal rather than a habit. I care deeply about people and those in my life. When I get a minute, I’ll watch a movie or play Yahtzee!
“One thing I’ve learned is that to be in someone’s life is an intentional commitment. If we do that, we’re in it for the whole ride, not just the fun stuff.”
Let’s talk about your life before you lost your best friend, Brad (who, full disclosure to the readers, also happens to be my late husband).
As a first born and a millennial, I was all about planning. Planning the resume. Planning the career. Planning the next big break. My life before the loss and my loss are intertwined. My best friend and college roommate became like a brother to me. Not only did he invite me into his home when I had a summer internship in DC to literally live with his family but also made commitments that ensured I was part of his life. And he mine. We’d stay up late dreaming big dreams about changing the world. Analyzing our own accomplishments and opportunities. Criticizing our weaknesses, we’d sit for hours imagining the book we’d write or campaign we’d run or company we’d found. Prior to losing my best friend, Bradford, I thought everything was about planning and execution (of that plan). We had fun, sure, because we were able to work hard and play hard. But it was all toward the goals of professional success.
We were inside each other’s heads and to know me was to know him. It was a full life, a busy life and one with high expectations.
As a witness to your relationship, I can attest how special it truly was. What was life like leading up to Brad’s diagnosis? You and your family happened to move to Detroit the summer before. which was the first time we all lived in the same city outside of college.
The necessary background to understanding my loss is to understand Detroit. In 2005, Brad moved to Detroit as part of a United Way of American fellowship. The only candidate not to rank Detroit last, he was assigned here. For the next 10 years, I visited for long weekends and overnights on my out West. I participated in Brad’s marriage to Dana - yes your gracious host - on the rooftop of a building in midtown. I stayed out late. I got up early. I ran the Detroit ½ marathon and told everyone I knew about how great a city Detroit is.
Through a series of events, I was lucky enough to be offered a job in Detroit in 2016 and I took it. We moved to Detroit just a few buildings down along the Detroit River from Brad and Dana. For the next few months, we walked between houses, grabbed beers, celebrated holidays and played golf. Within a few months, Brad was not feeling well. One night during a double date, he had to go home early from the pain. That was the last straw and what led to serious medical investigation. The result was found to be an aggressive, rare tumor on his kidney.
From your perspective, what was life like after that, leading up to Brad’s death?
Over the next few weeks and months, we attended medical visits, doctor’s appointments, radiation treatment and Defending Your Life sessions. Defending Your Life was the podcast we recorded as part of documenting the experience. Having no idea what we’d do with it, we recorded over 60 hours of conversations. Some combination of Brad and his closest friends appear on every one. Though I have not gone back to listen to it, I always rely on knowing it’s there…someday.
Brad’s decline was rapid and painful. The physical pain of his surgery, treatment and disease made it hard for him to connect or plan his own passing. The emotional pain of his struggle struck deep in all of us. On Thanksgiving, we were talking about how this couldn’t be, wouldn’t be, his last Thanksgiving. On Christmas, we were not talking about it because it was too scary. By mid-January, the family gathered. Part vigil, part celebration, part Loft camping. We surrounded Brad with people, music and stories just as he and Dana requested. The Loft was open 24/7 but mostly occupied early afternoon through approximately 4 am. The beauty and connection of the moment could not overshadow the horror of what was to come.
In the last few days, I left the Loft as little as possible and only to sleep. I could walk back to my apartment and thankfully my wife and daughter supported me throughout. We could not have shared the experience of Brad’s final days and passing without Meredith, my wife. I don’t know how I would have survived without her. As had become my habit, most days, I left The Loft around 4 AM and walked home returning as soon as possible sometimes around 10 or a bit after. On Sunday January 22, I decided to spend more time with my 3 year old daughter. We lay in her bedroom staring at her ceiling and talking. She told me about a dream where Brad was out in space, near the rings of Saturn and that he was going to be ok.
A few minutes later, Dana called and told me that Brad’s heart had stopped. I told Meredith and left for the walk down the Detroit Riverfront to say goodbye. It was hard to see Brad without life lying in the same spot he had been for the last two weeks. But it was not unexpected and in some way, it felt over. It was just the beginning of another thing, of course, but I wouldn’t know that at the time. The next few hours were filled with logistics and details and sadness.
How about in the immediate days/weeks/months after? How did you react (good and/or bad)? How did you cope?
Numb. Numb is the word that comes to mind. I tried to talk about it with our closest friends and family. I tried to keep up Brad dinners or Brad related events like happy hours and late night conversations. Some authentic and some forced, my conversations were almost entirely about loss. Even when it was not a conversation, it was a mindset. For instance, I would find myself at work involved in some meeting or discussion about a mundane detail (or perceived mundane, on my part) thinking “don’t these people know what I’ve been through?” It was like I wanted everyone to understand how important life is. There was almost a desperation to emphasize it and try to squeeze out meaning.
The year after Brad died, your mom died, also to cancer. Can you share about her diagnosis and death?
After losing Brad, I also lost my mother the following year. My life before losing Brad compared to my life after losing both Brad and my mother is, in some ways, like two different lives.
My mom was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. She underwent surgery to remove the cancer and a course of chemotherapy because the doctor found some cancer cells in the wash after her hysterectomy. One thing that sticks out in my mind from that time is how she insisted on downplaying the risks and working throughout the chemo. We could tell she wasn't feeling her best but she continued to live her life. My mom was a physical therapist and her patients were a big part of her life.
When she finished chemo, we all thought it was behind us. She had successfully completed the chemo, that's it, right? Almost a month or so after what I thought was the all clear, Mom started feeling sick but not, you know, cancer-sick, just like regular-sick. But regular-sick, the flu or something, is never just the flu after cancer. On the phone with my mom hearing "it's probably just the flu" was the first time I remember that sinking feeling of dread. Part of my mind was screaming "IT'S NEVER JUST THE FLU" and yet part of my mind held out hope "MAYBE IT IS THE FLU." In fact, my mom returned to chemo not six months removed from surgery.
Cancer was back. She was diagnosed with cancer of the lining of her stomach. In fact, the lining of the stomach is an organ and is capable of getting cancer. What's worse, the cancer swirls around.
Even still, I did not have an appreciation for the speed of what would happen next. Even a year after losing Brad to a rare, aggressive cancer, it did not register that it might be happening again, so soon. In August, our family was together at the beach and though she seemed weak, she was more energetic and herself than I expected. The beach, that year or any year, was my Mom's happy place. She loved her family and loved the beach. It remains a wonderful memory.
By Labor Day a few weeks later, she was in the hospital. Within a week or two after that, hospice. Losing her that quickly did not allow for much reflection. It's all a matter of perspective. After our family vacation, I thought she had several months. I started allocating my paid time off at work for November and December so I could spend all that time with my Mom. I still regret holding onto those vacation days thinking I would need them later.
Detroit to York, PA is approximately an eight hour drive. We finished what work we could and headed for York. Thankfully we had a day or two with my Mom where she could see us and see our daughter before slipping away. I look back now and remember that eye contact and connection as the most important moment. Everything that came after that - coming together as a family to support each other, the photos of her life, the friends & family stopping by, the stories, the tears, the laughs and the funeral - do not stand out like those last moments of connection with Mom.
I would be remiss, though, without mentioning another source of comfort in her death. Seeing people respond to my mother's influence on their life. Spending time with people who showed up to support our family. Hearing the stories was more helpful than I thought it would be. Her friends that surprised us with a visit. My friends that traveled from all over the country to show up. Yes, you hear this from everyone dealing with grief & loss but it is worth mentioning again - show up!
Can you talk about a specific low point or struggle?
There are 2 points that come to mind.
First, it was probably 2-3 months after the loss of Brad. There was no one low point, no one low moment. It was more a dissolution with meaning. For several days and nights it did not feel like my actions matter. It felt like nothing made a difference in the world, in my life. The struggle was finding a way to process what happened – the facts of the situation – against how it feels/felt.
That struggle continues and, unsurprisingly, alcohol has played a prominent role in the struggle as well. It would not be fair to either a) not mention it or b) blame it entirely on grief. It’s not entirely grief but heavy alcohol consumption for 2 years.
The second was losing my mother in September the year after Brad. The struggle and grief losing Brad was not fully realized when I lost my mom. I continued drinking and in some cases, increased my alcohol consumption. Again, I cannot think of a specific low point but a long period of dissolution.
How did you manage to find joy in those moments?
It was not easy. I tried to find joy in people – friends, family, meeting new people. In some cases, it did not work because it only reminded me of the loss. In other cases, I was able to channel the idea that pain is part of life and to truly live life, there were going to be these moments. It’s sounds cliché but as my mother was lying in a hospital bed about 3 weeks before she passed away, I told her “this is what I signed up for.” When I agreed to be in your life, even as a son, we’re making intentional commitments to our families. If we do that, we’re in it for the whole ride, not just the fun stuff. In other cases, I had to channel something totally separate from the pain. For instance, my young daughter’s joy in something she discovered or enjoyed herself.
How do you live life differently from before these losses? Any unexpected changes?
Since I lost Brad and my mom, my life has continued to change. I have a new job – slight career change within the same company. Our family bought a house – moved from renting a townhouse to owning a home. My workouts have ceased completely. (Hoping to change that soon).
Another loss, of sorts, after the loss of Brad was my idealism. The world – once exciting and open to be changed – closed off. I don’t see the potential or the change that’s possible. People who previously simply annoyed me or made me shake my head now became confirmation that the world was a brutal and uncaring place.
Politics – once a topic that fired me up and sparked my passion – became a refuge of disgust and pain (not entirely to do with grief because I feel like any sensitive person should feel this way about today’s climate regardless). In many ways, Brad and I fueled each other. His loss meant losing that brainstorming and the thought process that our way of thinking could prevail.
I’m not sure I live life any different day to day. Perhaps my routine and my mindset are not as closely aligned as I might think but it feels like most of the change has been psychological rather than behavioral.
What do you want others to know about grief?
Grief is sneaky and powerful. People, here and there, gave me advice about grief but I don’t see how it is anything other than a personal process. Each person has a different experience and the implications range widely from existential to denial. And some days both in the same day. The most important thing I learned was to release expectations. Having no expectation of what it “should” be like or how I “should” handle it was the hardest but most important lesson for me.
How can a person best be there to support a loved one who is grieving?
Just show up. This is Dana’s line and if you know the Forced Joy Project, then you already know this advice. There’s no way to ask for what you need in these moments because it’s really hard to know what you need. I found my mind kinda shut off to anything except my dying friend or my dying mother, etc. Even after they passed, it was still hard to ask for anything specific.
Just show up.
What would you tell yourself if you could go back to the beginning of your pre-loss journey?
Savor every moment. Even after you learn of the diagnosis or understand the severity of the potential loss. Don’t count on any treatment. Have hope, but don’t count on it. Just soak in the sharing of thoughts, stories and try to get as much time as you can. My mother’s decline was extremely rapid. I had saved days off thinking that’d I’d need them 6 months in the future. I (wrongly) assumed that she’d make it to Thanksgiving or even Christmas that year and that’s when I’d be taking my 2-3 weeks off work. She passed away on September 23. So, do not count on being able to have even a day in the future. It’s my biggest regret.
Soak it all in now.
My biggest gratitude from my pre-loss journey, however, with Brad was podcasting. We had started a podcast together, “just gotta do it,” he said. And we did. Though I have not revisited it yet, we have 60+ hours of podcasts together during our journey because we had started it. So, if there’s any advice there, it has to be “just do the thing.”
Looking back, anything you would do differently?
I never got one-on-one time with my Mom to tell her everything I felt for her and our life together. The last time I saw her when she was herself, we were all together as a family, and she was looking up (we thought we had more time). By the time I was able to get back to her bedside, she was not able to focus long enough for the conversation that I was wanting to have.
I just want that one last conversation…
What would you tell others who are going through something similar?
There are many, many people who care about you, who are showing up and who will continue to show up afterward. Since people is all we’ve got, lean into your closest relationships. It’s not your job to protect them or worry about whether they feel burdened. I found that if I trusted people to tell me when something was too much or when I was being difficult, it relieved me of having to worry about it. If someone doesn’t show up or doesn’t support you, then you know more about them than you did yesterday. Non-judgment but still honest.
Any resources that were helpful for you that others might be able to utilize?
No.
Perhaps the only thing I did that would be helpful was returning to books that asked the bigger questions of life. The Alchemist, for example, is a book that changes how you read it depending on what you’re going through.
Let’s talk about the guilt and shame. It seems unavoidable for some reason. Survival guilt, self care, etc. Do you experience that?
What was a revelation for me was how present guilt and shame were all along. Losing Brad seemed to shine a bright light on guilt and shame. Yes, I felt guilt for being selfish. The idea that somehow my confusion and my pain were too much or too time-consuming was a common feeling in the year or two after I lost Brad. Likewise, I felt shame for pretty much anything I wanted. I perceived my desire to be either foolish or wrong. If I drank too much alcohol, it somehow translated in my mind to “you are not strong enough,” “you should value life more,” or “you are wasting valuable time.”
It exacerbated feelings that probably already existed but just made them stronger, louder. For example, I am an avid runner and at the time I was running a lot. I had a pretty steady pace for runs between 4-10 miles. After losing Brad, I had several occasions where I’d go out for a run and find myself basically sprinting realizing that I had just kept running faster and faster. To me, it was a metaphor for what I was going through. It just felt like life was moving really fast and I couldn’t stop it. There was almost a hamster wheel quality to those days. In fact, it still feels like that occasionally to this day.
I stopped running after my mom died last year and really haven’t returned to it. Where that might have been a source of guilt in the past, it no longer is. I’m still hoping to get back to it, but now I want to run for me and not because “I should.”
Guilt and shame are real. Good luck!
If you could go back and spend a day with Brad, what would you guys do?
Brad and I would often talk about the ideal day. I can hear his voice - “What's your ideal day?” We'd talk about it and then reflect on how our answers have changed or are changing over time. What was once coffee, greasy breakfast sandwiches, playing Madden, walking & talking, and hitting the bar slowly becomes sleeping more, more coffee, salads and staying in. That said, the one constant is talking. Deep, meaningful conversation.
Our day would include golf, music, talking, a beer or two, dinner, music, connection and staying up late with friends in deep, meaningful conversation. Did I mention there would be music?
How about a day with your mom? What would that look like?
The thing I miss the most is my Mom's laugh. My mom laughed a lot. Smiled a lot. I think the thing that made my Mom happiest was her house full of family. If I could, I would spend the day with my Mom at our family home cooking, eating, talking and making her laugh. During the day, there'd be some time outside and lots of time with family. We'd probably end the day with dessert and sitting around the table talking and laughing. I've said many times that my Mom is the voice in my head - for better or worse - but it's increasingly hard to hear (to remember) her laugh. I would spend as much of the day as possible laughing with her.
I regularly wonder how Brad would handle all that is 2020 (COVID, murders & protests, the political climate, etc.). What advice do you think Brad would give for surviving this shit storm?
Brad always brought a long term perspective to these types of issues. I can remember getting a brief preview of how Brad was thinking about the emerging social and political climate as the Presidential election coincided with his diagnosis and treatment. We watched the election results at your Loft together. Brad spoke often of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. studying his letters and considering his strategies & values. I've often wondered whether his fire and passion would push Brad to be more aggressive in protest given that technology has allow greater visibility across the country into the frequency of violence and discriminatory practices against black America. We know that systemic racism has always existed but social media and cell phones have ensured white America must address it. I think Brad would be supporting his friends & colleagues in grief and protest. Brad would be taking the long view about what these means for America and for Detroit.
One thing that Brad instilled in me was observation of strong leadership and weak leadership. I'm confident his view of the COVID-19 response, particularly from politicians, would be an observation of leadership. Crises are the moments leaders emerge or fade. Brad was critical of leaders that did not own successes and failures. The reason owning both is important is credibility. If everyone knows it was a success, owning it is honest. Same goes for difficulty or failure. I can still hear him telling me to be excited to be vulnerable because it meant being honest. The failure of any leader, but particularly of a President, is evident when he or she blames others and inspires uncertainty rather than hope. I believe Brad would see that failure as worse, much worse, than making a mistake.
On a personal note (not that this isn’t all personal), I miss “podcasting” (I use that term loosely) with you. Do you think we should bring back Defending Your Life? I think we could all use more conversations on how to live more courageously.
Yes, yes, yes. Defending Your Life has never been a more relevant or applicable concept. We're seeing black men and women literally defending their lives every single day. Living courageously is also a source of hope. It brings national conflict and national problems down to us and our lives. How can I live more courageously today, NOW, in my community? What can I do today that I will wish I had done a year from now? Let's return to our source - Defending Your Life.
What brings you joy now?
My daughter. My nephews and niece. Competing with friends at card games, backgammon or Yahtzee. Any time spent with people. I’ve been trying to connect with friends over meals, trips and other events. It’s hard(er) once we all starting having kids and families but it’s the thing I look forward.
Anything else you’d like readers to know?
One of the biggest myths or lies I told myself was that my actions did not matter. That I was hurting and that either a). nothing I did mattered that much or b). everyone would just blame the loss and grief so it didn’t matter anyway. It was a defeatist approach and only made me feel worse in the end. It may feel like your feelings are disconnected from reality but trying to integrate the pain into who I will now be moving forward has been the hardest but most rewarding part. I do feel now, still in the midst of trying to process the pain, that I’m a more empathic and understanding person. The experience has helped me connect with people and become a better leader (I hope) at work. I didn’t see it immediately but I’m working on it everyday. That is its own kinda hope, I think.
Want to learn more about Jeremy and his story? Follow him on Instagram at @jeremydpotter, check out his weekly newsletter, Saturday Cup of Joe, or head over to Defending Your Life for real time conversations on life, death, survival, and everything in between.