What Matters Most: Dad’s Stories

“It has been said that sometimes we need a story more than food to live.” Rachel Remen, My Grandfather’s Blessings
As we reflect on our lives to date, what matters most? I started this column in 2008 to bring the best of mental health to my Cape May County neighbors. Changing identifying information, I used vignettes from my practice and my life to illustrate key concepts, because stories capture our hearts and engage our minds.  
The Coche Center, LLC began as a practice in Clinical Psychology in 1978. We had no capital, no loans, and no clients. Insurance reimbursements did not exist for psychologists so survival was highly unlikely. And clients often felt ashamed of “needing” therapy. And yet we thrived, perhaps because feeling understood is what matters most to many of us. We provided means to understand what is going on inside, to make the unconscious a friend, to harness the wildness of love.
Each story is a metaphor for life: in the antics of our pup learning to trust the humans who groom her, we remember the need to trust those who love us. The brevity of each story invites us to gulp the content, but I am told that the stories have sticking power: they lodge in the heart, enabling readers to abstract from their simply told tales. Readers find themselves wondering about the rest of the story: Did the woman who lost her husband to cancer find a new life?
2017 marks the 39th anniversary of The Coche Center. Each year since 1978 I have spent 1,000 hours listening to what matters most to about 60 families monthly. These stories, crafted from my life and training as a clinical psychologist, uncover ways to live one’s best life. Often small moments carry huge messages. Happiness experts tell us that life is about creating moment after moment of meaning, offering emotional clarity in moments when time stands still. These moments teach us what matters most. 
We often become captivated by the same events repeatedly. For example, jumping waves with my oldest granddaughter transport me to the delight in being lifted above the waves by my father’s robust arms as a young girl in Cape May. I can still feel the solidity in his grasp: “I will never let you go. You will be safe with me until you no longer need me,” was the message. He was right. He died at 94 after I was launched. He has been there for me every day of my life. His spirit looks down from the portrait of him that hangs in my office. More often than he could imagine, I say “Thank you, dad.” And sometimes my eyes glisten.
As a girl, I assumed that all girls had very smart dads to hold them safe. Dad was the son of two Russian Jewish immigrants. Fleeing religious persecution, they landed at Ellis Island in 1904 with eight children, none speaking English. Grandfather Samuel died shortly thereafter, leaving dad, the oldest son, to support his illiterate mother and seven brothers and sisters. He opened his apothecary shop at age 16 after graduating The Philadelphia College of Pharmacy and Science. Despite a masterful command of spoken and written language, his dream to be a University English professor was lost. Instead, for 50 years, he built a successful trade with 500 top physicians in the Delaware Valley. Milner’s Pharmacy is still at the corner of 44th and Chestnut streets. Dad taught two younger brothers and created two more pharmacies in University City, and was awarded an honorary doctorate from his college. Because security and loyalty were what mattered most, dad made peace with his life, remaining single to support his family. At 40, to feed his hungry intellect, he took himself around the world solo, and then returned to marry at 42 and co-create me at 44. I became his only daughter because he treasured my existence; he told me stories about what mattered most in life.
It would be many decades before I could internalize the magnitude of his gift. I assumed that all dads had a sparkle in their eye, seizing every opportunity to inject double-tongued humor into daily life, turning the ordinary interchange into a cause for laughing together. As the patriarch of our local 50-member clan, dad managed the others by wielding language with sufficient power to keep others on their toes. Maturity would inform me that dad carried the wisdom of the ages to me and that I have the privilege of incorporating formal education to help me select and carry life’s stories to those I touch. I hope these little stories touch your heart and your life.
To consider: In your life can you find three hidden gifts that you take for granted? How might life be better if you celebrated their meaning in your life?
To read: My Grandfather’s Blessings. Rachel Remen. Penguin Press. New York. 2014
Find Dr. Judith Coche working with the stories of clients at The Coche Center, LLC, a practice in Clinical Psychology at Rittenhouse Square and Stone Harbor. Reach her through www.cochecenter.com.