Listening Like Superman: Finding Meaning in Moments of Loss
I’m currently sitting here in a hospital cafeteria amused by the strange contrast of the everyday bustle of life continuing around me while my own world feels like it’s standing still. I’m reflecting on the experience of watching my grandmother lie in a hospital bed after a major stroke.
I was just in the room with her. Watching her chest rise and fall, each breath a poignant reminder of life’s fragility. The soft beeping of monitors marking time in a place where time seems to blur.
Writing is becoming my way of processing the world, making sense of the chaos, and right now, I feel compelled to share what’s unfolding in real time.
My dad was gently stroking the back of her hand as if trying to memorize the feel of her skin, his eyes reflecting so many emotions — love, fear, hope, and a hint of defeat. I’m seeing not just my father but a son losing his mother, a man confronting the limits of his strength. Seeing him like that makes me think about the complex ways we deal with moments like these.
I also can’t help but reflect on my own role as a father. My kids are still so young, full of questions and boundless energy. As a father, I often catch myself wanting to guide them, to steer them away from mistakes I’ve made, to protect them from the world’s inevitable hardships. I think I know better because I’ve been there before. But the truth is, they’re individuals on their own journeys, just like all of us.
This thought. This experience. It’s randomly is taking me back to someone I admired as a kid- Superman.
Art by Jason Fabok.
Clark Kent’s super hearing lets him pick up every cry for help, every whisper of distress around the globe. He’s constantly aware of the world’s troubles. Growing up on Earth, he’s learned to understand us in a way that’s both intimate and profound. With all his powers, he could easily step in and fix every problem, prevent every tragedy. But he doesn’t. Instead, he chooses to listen, to step in only when truly needed.
Superman’s home planet, Krypton, was destroyed because people ignored the warnings of his father, Jor-El. They didn’t listen, and it led to their downfall. Jor-El managed to save only his son, sending him to Earth in a desperate hope for a better future. With that history, Clark could have decided to control our world, to prevent us from making the same mistakes that doomed his own people. But he doesn’t impose his will on us. He respects our right to make our own choices.
As I sat there in that dimly lit room, I realized how much I could learn from that approach.
Watching my dad with my grandma, I saw a man grappling with the need to let go. He wanted to hold on, to find a way to fix things, to keep her here with us a little longer. And who could blame him? Letting go is one of the hardest things we ever have to do. But maybe, sometimes, the greatest act of love is accepting that we can’t control everything.
I thought about my kids again. How often have I tried to solve their problems for them, thinking I was helping? How many times have I jumped in, instead of letting them figure things out on their own? Maybe, like Superman, I need to listen more. To be there when they truly need me, and to let them navigate their own paths.
Thinking about all this doesn’t make the pain go away, but it does help me make a bit more sense of it.
Empathy isn’t just about understanding what someone else is feeling; it’s about being present with them, even when it’s uncomfortable. Sitting in that hospital room, I felt a mix of sadness, love, and a strange kind of peace. I couldn’t change what was happening, but I could be there — for my grandma, for my dad, for myself.
Choice and intention play big roles in how we interact with the world. Superman chooses when to act and when to hold back, always with purpose. He doesn’t react impulsively, even though he could. Maybe I can try to do the same. Instead of rushing in to fix things, I can pause, listen, and consider what’s truly needed.
Acceptance is tough. It means acknowledging that some things are out of our hands. My dad was wrestling with that reality, and so was I. But maybe, by accepting what we can’t change, we find a way to move forward.
Allowing the flow of the universe — it’s a concept that sounds a bit abstract, but in moments like these, it feels very real. It’s about trusting that life has its own rhythm, its own path, and that we don’t have to control every aspect of it. We can be part of it, we can influence it, but we also need to let it be.
I don’t have all the answers. I’m still figuring out how to be a good son, a good father, a good person. But maybe, by listening more and trying to control less, I’ll get a little closer.
Superman could save the world in an instant, but he chooses to listen and let us find our own way. Maybe that’s a lesson we can all take to heart.
Now I’m at home. I’ve been feeling a swirl of emotions — sadness, yes, but also gratitude. Life doesn’t come with an instruction manual. We’re all just trying to do the best we can with what we have. Reflecting on the moments by my grandmother’s side, watching my dad navigate his own feelings, I realized that sometimes, the most powerful thing we can do is simply be there. To listen without judgment, to support without trying to fix everything.
Thinking about all this doesn’t erase the hurt, but it gives it context. It reminds me that pain and joy often walk hand in hand, that love is as much about letting go as it is about holding on.
So, I’m going to try to be more like Superman — not in strength or speed, but in patience and empathy. I’m going to listen more, react less, and trust that my kids will find their way, just as I continue to find mine.
Maybe we can’t save the world like Superman, but perhaps we can save the moments — the ones that truly matter — by being there, by listening, by letting go when we need to. And maybe that’s enough.
