Some Reflections on 'Why' This Father's Day

When something terrible happens, like the shootings of two Democratic lawmakers in Minnesota, our instinct is always to ask, "Why?"

Photo by Angela Demas

By Trygve Olson

I grew up just outside the Twin Cities of Minneapolis–St. Paul, on the Wisconsin side of the St. Croix River. For me, it will always be home.

On Saturday, that home was shattered.

Minnesota House Minority Leader and former Speaker Melissa Hortman and her husband were shot and killed. State Senator John Hoffman and his wife were also shot — both remain hospitalized. Authorities believe this was a politically motivated attack.

It’s shocking. It’s senseless. And it’s not just a political tragedy — it’s a personal one for anyone who calls this region home, and for anyone trying to raise children in a country where such new is becoming more frequent, and more targeted.

I had planned to write something about being a father today. But there’s no way to separate that role from the one we all carry in moments like this: citizen. Because being a father means teaching your kids how to live in the world — and trying to make sure that world doesn’t break them before they’ve had a chance to build something of their own.

When something terrible happens, the instinct is always to ask: “Why?”

That question nearly destroyed me in July 2006, when our first daughter, Vilte — whose name means hope in Lithuanian — was stillborn at thirty-seven weeks.

There was no warning. No reason that explained anything. She was perfect. She was healthy. And she was gone.

The weeks and months that followed were a kind of hell I wouldn’t wish on anyone. We eventually went back to work. Life around us kept moving. From the outside, it probably looked like we were functioning again.

But inside, I was still struggling with “Why?”

It wasn’t until months later — while we were still living in Vilnius, trying to hold our life together — that I received an email from a close friend.

He had lost his younger brother to cancer when they were boys — his brother was eleven, he was twelve.

In that message, he wrote something that has stayed with me every day since:

“There is no why. Terrible things happen. The only thing that matters is what you take from the experience and carry forward.”

That was the truth. Not a comfort. Not an explanation. Just clarity.

There is no why for Vilte.
There is no why for what happened yesterday in Minnesota.
There is only what now? What can we take from the experience to carry forward in making our lives, our world, and our futures just a little bit better?

Today, I’m with my family.

Ula, my oldest daughter, is visiting colleges. She’s becoming the person we always hoped she would. And watching her prepare to leave is breaking something in me I didn’t know was still fragile.

Kaja, our youngest, is here too. She’s everything I didn’t know I needed — blunt, hilarious, sharp, endlessly herself.

And yes, Vilte is with me too. Always.

I don’t know why I didn’t get these moments with Vilte.

But I do know this: if Vilte had lived, there likely would be no Kaja.

I don’t say that to make sense of it. It doesn’t make sense. But it’s a truth I carry — one of those quiet, painful, sacred contradictions that comes with being a parent and a human in an often imperfect world.

Because what Vilte gave me, even in her absence, was clarity:
We don’t get to choose what breaks us.
But we do get to choose why we carry forward — and how.

So this Father’s Day, I’m asking you to do three things:

1. Tell your father you love him.
   Even if he’s gone. Even if it’s complicated. Say it.

2. Thank the person who showed up when you needed them.
   A parent. A friend. A stranger. Someone who helped carry you forward.

3. Be present for someone younger.
   A kid. A student. A voter. The next generation is watching. Show up.

We don’t get to choose what grief gives us. But we do get to choose what we make of it.

There is no why.

Only what now.

Happy Father’s Day.

Trygve Olson is a strategist, pro-democracy fighter and a founding Lincoln Project advisor. He writes the Searching for Hope Substack. Read the original column here.