Fatherhood
If Only I Could Go Back
By John Trautwein | June 2026
Over the years, I have said time and time again to anyone who would listen: the most important thing that ever happened to me in my life was becoming a dad.
It happened on August 1, 1995, with the birth of my son Will Trautwein. He was the perfect creation of love between my beautiful wife Susie and myself. A dream come true. On that day I knew my life was never the same. As I wrote in The Will To Live, on that day "everything in my life that was good became great, and everything that was great became extraordinary."
Over the next nine years, it happened three more times, with the births of Tommy and Michael in 1997 and 1999, and our daughter Holyn in 2004.
It's now 2026. And if I could go back 15, 20 or even 25 years knowing what I know today, I'm proud to say there are many things I wouldn't change. But I will say this: there were so many moments I thought were critically important, moments I now realize simply were not. The cold, hard truth that haunts me today is this: after tragedy, after loss, the truth becomes painfully clear.
It was the little things that mattered most.
When Will was born, I received a handmade card from Susie's dear friend Kathy Rush, who was also Will's godmother. I don't have the card today, but I never forgot what it said:
"The greatest gift that you can give to your son is to love his mother with everything you have."
I believed it then. I still believe it today. Over the past few years, I've had the honor of officiating five weddings — and at each one, I spoke those words. Their impact was immediate. Always put your spouse first. Your kids will rejoice in that. It builds the foundation of a truly loving family.
Through the first fifteen years of my fatherhood journey, I thought I had it figured out. Life was good. My family was good, my marriage was good, and I was a good dad.
Then, on October 15, 2010, everything changed. My oldest son Will, the person who made me a father, took his life. This wonderful, smart, handsome, successful, popular, kind, and loving boy lost the will to live. And in a moment, everything I knew about fatherhood changed.
For the next fifteen years, my understanding of what it means to be a father continued to evolve — and what surprised me most was that my performance as a father actually improved. My priorities changed. My relationships with my children grew deeper.
Today, I wish I could go back to the days when I was a young father and share these four lessons that took a tragedy to teach me.
1. Presence Matters More Than Performance
When you're a young father, you feel the weight of responsibility. You want to be successful. You want to provide for your family and build something meaningful. You want to be the best father you can be. But looking back now, I realize something simple and profound.
My kids weren't keeping score of my performance. They were watching whether I was there.
I remember sitting on the sidelines and riding in the car after games. I enjoyed reading a bedtime story or having simple conversations about nothing in particular. At the time, these "small moments" didn't feel significant or memorable to me. But they were everything. Not because of anything earth-shattering like game-winning goals or brilliant parenting moments, but because we were together. Talking, listening, sharing, and connecting.
I'm not sure I realized back then that being present beats being impressive — every time. You don't need the answers. You just need to be there. Treasure the small moments because it's in these moments where connection grows. These are the moments you'll miss the most.
2. Never Assume They're Okay
Here's what I didn't know sixteen years ago: Every 13 minutes, someone in America takes their life. Every 2 hours, that someone is a teenager. 1 in 5 people you know suffers from a diagnosable mental illness.
Will was everything a father could hope for. He was smart, handsome, athletic, popular, and incredibly kind. He was the leader of his friends, and he rejoiced in their success. But he had an illness neither of us knew existed. And because I didn't create a culture in my home where it was okay to not be okay, he never told me he was struggling. He knew what I would say. He knew I'd fix it by dinner. He knew I wouldn't truly understand. He knew I'd have "my answer" rather than help him find his. As a result, he didn't share.
"I look back now and wish I'd said just once: 'Wow Will, this is really hard. I'm sorry you're going through this. Can I help?'"
Our kids are not always okay even when they seem perfect. Depression is everywhere, and it can be hidden — they can mask it from us, just like Will hid it from me. The fact that I now know that it really is okay to not be okay is the difference between me today and yesterday.
3. See Life Through Their Eyes, Not Yours
I've always been positive, a motivator who looked at the world through a "glass half full" lens, every time. I thought it was a strength. Now I see the flaw in it.
I looked at Will's world through my 1980 high school eyes. I saw better facilities, more opportunities, more resources than I ever had. What I didn't see was the pressure those opportunities created. A smaller and more competitive world. A harder college admissions process. Travel sports with fifteen spots. And an iPhone delivering 24/7 negative noise straight into his pocket. While I was saying "Isn't this awesome, Will" — the world was beating him down, and I missed it.
Will never once told his friends, "Yeah, my dad gets me."
I wish I had slowed down and listened more. Maybe I could have asked one more question to hear more from him instead of jumping to my answer. Maybe I could have shown him that failure is okay — and in fact, expected. I wish I had told him what I know now: that grief is often the birthplace of hope.
"Showing understanding matters more than having the answer. Our kids live in a different world than we did, and they have it harder. I just wish I would have remembered that and said it once in a while."
4. Teach Them the Power They Have to Deliver Hope
After we lost Will, observing the way his friends showed up for each other changed everything. But it was more than words — it was their presence that mattered. They didn't fix anything, but they were there. In being there for each other, they were delivering hope. And through this, something remarkable happened: the ones giving the hope were often the ones most transformed by it.
"Realizing that we had the power to deliver hope to each other was instrumental in our healing. We began to realize that the more you give, the greater the will to live."
Hope isn't something we just have — it's something we learn to give and receive. So be that parent who shows understanding. Who dares to hope! A father or a mother who points your kids toward their friends, their teammates, their people. Those relationships will carry them their whole lives. Many of those friends will continue to be their Life Teammates®, the ones who will show up for them, no matter what, for the rest of their lives.
Teach them to define themselves by the love in their lives. It's the relationships that really matter!
I know I can't go back, but perhaps you are there now.
Be a better listener. Slow life down and be present. Ask one or two more questions that encourage them to talk — not you. Create a culture in your home where it's okay to not be okay. See your children's world through their eyes, not yours. And teach them, by showing them, that the greatest thing they can do with their life is to show up for someone else's.
Will taught me all of this. His life, and his beautiful legacy, changed everything I thought I knew about being a father. I carry him in every word I speak, every stage I stand on, and with every parent I pray I reach in time.
Because that's what Will would want. That's what your kids want: a parent who truly sees them.
Happy Father's Day!
John Trautwein
John Trautwein is the author of The Will To Live (HCI/Simon & Schuster, 2026), a motivational speaker, and co-founder of the Will To Live Foundation alongside his wife Susie. A Northwestern University alumnus, former MLB pitcher, and the Chief Customer Officer of Source Support Services, John has dedicated his life to teen mental health awareness and the Life Teammates® culture. Learn more at willtolive.org.