Robert James Graham, 1951-2026
In 2010, Dad (James Graham) was first diagnosed with cancer. In 2020, he was given a terminal stage 4 diagnosis. In October of 2025, he was hospitalized for weeks. He came back to Florida from Portugal for treatment and I went down to visit him.
Me: "Dad, I interpreted your decision to go to Portugal to mean that you didn't want me to be involved in this stage of your life. Should I interpret your decision to return to Florida for treatment to mean that you *do* want me to be involved?"
Dad: "Yes. And Yes."
Hours later.
Dad: "I'm sorry that I wasn't a better dad."
Me: "Dad, the hallmark of a good dad is the ability to acknowledge to our children that there are things that we should have done differently. If that's what this, I'll receive it - but you need to know that I appreciate you being my dad."
Me: "You know, the responsibility that I have as an adult child is to recognize that much of who I've become in life has been a direct result of who you are and the gifts you've given to me ... and that much of who I've become in life has been a direct result of the things that I needed to overcome because you weren't able to give certain gifts to me in the ways that I needed. Dad, I love you for those gifts - and I love you in spite of the fact that you couldn't give me everything I needed."
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Our relationship has been a complicated one. There were periods in my life when I couldn't understand why a man so admired by so many (including me!) didn't know if he wanted to have a relationship with me. I won't pretend that my boundaries weren't a factor but my closest friends know of the pain in my heart for missing out.
Since October of 2025, I've visited nearly every week - sometimes making the 150 mile round-trip drive more than once per week. We've shared much together - and I feel that these months have been dad's greatest gift to me.
Dad worked to reconcile with both of his brothers. He has texted with grandchildren nearly every day over these months.
One day in January, we embraced before I left his condo and had this exchange:
Dad: "I love you, son. Thanks for coming to visit me again."
Me: "I love you too, Dad. I'm sorry that I don't receive those words as well as I should and that I so rarely say them back even though I mean them."
Dad: "It's okay. You're you - and that's okay."
Me: "As nice as it is to hear you say 'I love you,' Dad, could I ask you favor? Could you think about whether or not you could tell me that you're proud of me too?"
Dad: "Oh, my goodness - of course I'm proud of you."
I drove the 75 miles home and realized that Dad had posted on Facebook while I drove: "My Son Makes Me Proud Each and Every Day."
Shortly thereafter, he mailed me a greeting card with a long letter about how proud he is of me as a son and the father of his grandchildren. It's a card that still sits on my office desk.
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I visited dad last Friday (July 31). I'd been there the Sunday before and there had been a significant decline in just those few days. I called Sara to tell her to come quickly and she was boarding a plane about 90 minutes later. I picked her up near midnight and took her to dad's condo.
Lisa and the 5 youngest kids and I went to spend Monday (August 3) with Dad and it was so meaningful. His grandchildren (rightfully!) love him so much.
I had surgery of my own on Wednesday but we stayed in touch. After spending Thursday-Saturday in recovery, Lisa and I were able to spend all-day Sunday (yesterday) at his bedside.
Surrounded by his closest friends, we laughed and we cried. He was still alert at times - and asked me what important things I was going to do with my week. When it was just Sara and Lisa and me, we played some of his favorite songs: "Suppertime" (a song I sang at my grandfather's funeral), "Serenaded by Angels," and "Going Home." We said our goodbyes and goodnights - and I awoke to a text from Sara that he'd passed in his sleep.
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My father leaves behind a legacy I long to leave. His children and grandchildren love him. Friends and former business associates and ministry leaders tell stories of his service to others. Even the security guard at the condo said, "We love Mr. James."
Grief is complicated. There's so much to share in time. But I haven't really cried today until I sat down to type these words. I've been overwhelmed by the goodness of God during this season and I look forward to continuing to celebrate Dad's legacy and living intentionally in his memory.
"I love you dad. I'm proud to be known as your son."
Heavenly Father, thank you for these last 10 months.
