Bryce Sealock never tells us his father is dying.
One cold day in January, he and his sister Brynn, as conscientious and sweet as Bryce is funny and flippant, fail to come to school. Tumbling into class, my American Lit students tell me the news.
"Bryce's dad died."
We stare at each other, our faces mirroring shock.
Then we pray. For Bryce. For his sweet sister and good mother.
A day or two later, we all attend Tom Sealock's wake. Bryce greets my husband and me. He is pale but composed. And very grownup.
"Why didn't you tell us?" we say.
Bryce shakes his head. "Couldn't deal with the attention," he says.
Later, his mother Shari will tell me that Bryce, when the time comes, reassures his dying father. Tom Sealock struggles against death unwilling to leave his young family. But Bryce holds his hand.
"You can do this, Dad," he urges his father. "You can go. We'll be okay."
It has been nearly a year since Tom Sealock's death. Bryce is a senior at Grand Island Central Catholic, a kicker for the football team and a speech enthusiast. He is the same, he says, but different.
"I'm more serious about the decisions I make now, and I get on my friends if they're not making good long term decisions." He grins. "They get a little annoyed with me."
Since Bryce has been eight, he's lived with his father's health issues. Tom Sealock's kidneys fail him. Because his own parents and two siblings succumb to early deaths, Tom never talks about a future or retirement. Instead, he teaches his son Bryce.
"Mostly mechanical stuff," Bryce says. Bryce is mowing the lawn when he's in third grade. His father teaches him to change the oil in their vehicles, and Bryce understands he's being prepared for life without his father
Now in his senior year, Bryce throws himself into the busy world of high school. But he is protective of his mother and sister, and he is nagged by the relentless regrets that haunt all of us after a traumatic loss.
"I should have made more of an effort to spend time with my dad," he says. "I guess I thought we'd have more time."
School, however, is helping him to heal. "Everybody supports me. My faith is more personal for me now," he says, and the atmosphere at Grand Island Central Catholic is helping him to move on with his life.
Bryce and his sister have grown up in the Methodist church, but he has never felt awkward about attending a Catholic school. His religion teacher, Father Richard Piontkowski, is the "best in the region," Bryce says. "He's so knowledgeable about not just the Catholic faith, but all faiths. He's down to earth, respects everybody and is a great teacher."
Father Scott Harter, the GICC chaplain, has helped Bryce with his perspective on life. "He's pretty awesome and cool," Bryce says. "None of his homilies at Wednesday morning Mass are ever about judging. He's just got this great positive energy."
Wednesday morning Masses, in fact, have become very important to Bryce. "It's like my church, The school, as a whole, is all about making you a better person spiritually and morally."
With the support of his mother and teachers and friends, Bryce says his faith has grown. "I sometimes question God, but I believe in Heaven. I know my dad is there with Jesus. It would petrify me to wonder where my dad is. But I know he's okay,"
Grand Island Central Catholic has helped to give him "closure" and to look forward to the rest of his life.
Next year, he'd like to play football, possibly at Drake University, and study pre-law.
But now he's enjoying his senior year. He misses his dad at his football games, he says, even though his dad, because of his health, always had to watch from the car. "My dad really enjoyed watching me play last year."
When I ask to take his picture, Bryce pulls out a jacket. "Can I wear this?" he asks. It's a Grand Island Central Catholic football letter jacket. "My dad gave it to me last Christmas just before he died. It's the last thing he ever gave me."
Pulling it on, he smiles resolutely into the camera. I look at the boy in the lens, this 17-year-old kid who has stepped up to the plate to take care of his family.
And I know his father would be proud.
One cold day in January, he and his sister Brynn, as conscientious and sweet as Bryce is funny and flippant, fail to come to school. Tumbling into class, my American Lit students tell me the news.
 |
| Bryce Sealock |
"Bryce's dad died."
We stare at each other, our faces mirroring shock.
Then we pray. For Bryce. For his sweet sister and good mother.
A day or two later, we all attend Tom Sealock's wake. Bryce greets my husband and me. He is pale but composed. And very grownup.
"Why didn't you tell us?" we say.
Bryce shakes his head. "Couldn't deal with the attention," he says.
Later, his mother Shari will tell me that Bryce, when the time comes, reassures his dying father. Tom Sealock struggles against death unwilling to leave his young family. But Bryce holds his hand.
"You can do this, Dad," he urges his father. "You can go. We'll be okay."
It has been nearly a year since Tom Sealock's death. Bryce is a senior at Grand Island Central Catholic, a kicker for the football team and a speech enthusiast. He is the same, he says, but different.
"I'm more serious about the decisions I make now, and I get on my friends if they're not making good long term decisions." He grins. "They get a little annoyed with me."
Since Bryce has been eight, he's lived with his father's health issues. Tom Sealock's kidneys fail him. Because his own parents and two siblings succumb to early deaths, Tom never talks about a future or retirement. Instead, he teaches his son Bryce.
"Mostly mechanical stuff," Bryce says. Bryce is mowing the lawn when he's in third grade. His father teaches him to change the oil in their vehicles, and Bryce understands he's being prepared for life without his father
Now in his senior year, Bryce throws himself into the busy world of high school. But he is protective of his mother and sister, and he is nagged by the relentless regrets that haunt all of us after a traumatic loss.
"I should have made more of an effort to spend time with my dad," he says. "I guess I thought we'd have more time."
School, however, is helping him to heal. "Everybody supports me. My faith is more personal for me now," he says, and the atmosphere at Grand Island Central Catholic is helping him to move on with his life.
Bryce and his sister have grown up in the Methodist church, but he has never felt awkward about attending a Catholic school. His religion teacher, Father Richard Piontkowski, is the "best in the region," Bryce says. "He's so knowledgeable about not just the Catholic faith, but all faiths. He's down to earth, respects everybody and is a great teacher."
Father Scott Harter, the GICC chaplain, has helped Bryce with his perspective on life. "He's pretty awesome and cool," Bryce says. "None of his homilies at Wednesday morning Mass are ever about judging. He's just got this great positive energy."
Wednesday morning Masses, in fact, have become very important to Bryce. "It's like my church, The school, as a whole, is all about making you a better person spiritually and morally."
With the support of his mother and teachers and friends, Bryce says his faith has grown. "I sometimes question God, but I believe in Heaven. I know my dad is there with Jesus. It would petrify me to wonder where my dad is. But I know he's okay,"
Grand Island Central Catholic has helped to give him "closure" and to look forward to the rest of his life.
Next year, he'd like to play football, possibly at Drake University, and study pre-law.
But now he's enjoying his senior year. He misses his dad at his football games, he says, even though his dad, because of his health, always had to watch from the car. "My dad really enjoyed watching me play last year."
When I ask to take his picture, Bryce pulls out a jacket. "Can I wear this?" he asks. It's a Grand Island Central Catholic football letter jacket. "My dad gave it to me last Christmas just before he died. It's the last thing he ever gave me."
Pulling it on, he smiles resolutely into the camera. I look at the boy in the lens, this 17-year-old kid who has stepped up to the plate to take care of his family.
And I know his father would be proud.
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