Today you're going to hear the 8 hour goodbye through the life and lens of an optimizer dad. Remember, motivationcode.com has all the information you need about the code. 

The optimizer dad believes that you do it right. And because of that, it holds more than weight. It holds meaning. 

It was Thursday afternoon when the phone call came. The kind of call that rearranges a calendar in a single sentence. Mike had just closed out a workday project, a neat row of spreadsheets balanced like dominoes on his desk. When the screen lit up with his sister's name, he grabbed the phone, listening, pen in hand, already jotting notes without even thinking about it.

The news was imminent. Great Aunt Ruth was fading. Hospice is making the call. The window is narrowing. If you're going to come, this is your weekend. Where other men might pause to weigh the options, Mike's mind moved straight to logistics. He calculated the miles. The time needed? Eight hours. He measured. If they fell short, it would be a problem.

So they need to leave Friday before four. They could drive into the night and arrive just before midnight. A full night's rest would mean they could start fresh at hospice by nine, maybe nine thirty the next morning, depending on when they open. Saturday morning. He's going to spend the whole day with Aunt Ruth. He pencils in the return. Deciding he needs five hours to get to a stopping point.

and then three hours to get to church Sunday morning. That's the plan. It's got a frame. This system would hold up. This system would carry the weight of grief without letting anything slip into chaos.

When he got Lily from school, he called her into the room. said, sweetie, you're with me all weekend. It's just the two of us. We're gonna go see Aunt Ruth.

She said, Aunt Ruth, isn't she really old? Yes, sweetie, she's not doing well. We'll leave tomorrow right after school. We're gonna drive straight through.

Grab a hotel, stay there and visit with her all day Saturday. We'll be home for church on Sunday morning." Lily frowned. Will she even know us? She might. She might not, he said. But doing it right isn't about what she remembers or even if she remembers. It's about what we bring.

presence, care, steadiness. We'll make sure that we do it right, do it the best we can. So that night, he began his preparation the way an optimizer always does, by building a system. Two bags lined the hallway, one for him, one for Lily. He checked the weather along the route, mapped fuel stops, compared hotel rates. Then he logged into his rewards account and paused. He thought to himself,

I didn't know why I had been saving these points, but this is exactly the kind of moment they were meant for. An emergency, a call, a need. So he booked a clean, reliable hotel in her little small town just off the highway, one with a late check-in and a return hotel about halfway between Aunt Ruth and home. They wanted a good breakfast on Saturday morning.

but they didn't need one on Sunday morning. He printed directions. Not because he didn't know the way, and not because he didn't trust GPS, but because he just inherently knows that systems work better with redundancies. Mike gathers snacks into the pre-labeled bags with fruits, crackers, a thermos, granola bars, everything he needs in that department. Chargers, maps, a small folder for all the receipts he might

need along the way, he stuffs that in the glove box. Nothing about this trip would be wasted. Not time, not energy, not money. Optimizers don't waste. They systematize.

At work on Friday, Mike tied up every loose end. Emails answered. Project tasks delegated. Calendar cleared for the afternoon. He set his out of office message with precision. Unavailable Friday afternoon. Be back 8 a.m. Monday morning. All urgent matters directed to David. No ambiguity.

System was closed. Everyone knew what he meant.

By 3.30 he had the car packed, snacks clearly stowed, Lily's pillow wedged neatly behind the seat.

At 3.42, he picked her up from school and hit the road. Three minutes early. That's good. That gives him some margin. And margin was one of Mike's favorite things. When Lily climbed in, she saw this neat stack of papers between them. What's this, Dad? The drive plan, Mike answered. Stops every two hours, fuel here, dinner there, hotel by 11.45 PM.

You don't have to stay awake the whole time. If we run steady, we'll have the energy to finish well.

and we'll be rested when we see Ruth in the morning. We don't know how much time we're gonna have with her, sweetie.

Lily buckles in smiles and says in her little 10 year old voice feels like a field trip. Exactly. Mike says field trips run smoother with a plan. The drive it unfolded just as he had mapped it out. Traffic slowed when he got to any cities, but because he knew that and had margin, they stayed on track. Dinner was at a 30 minute stop.

just off the highway. He reviewed the diner online, no reservations needed, got in, got out, washed hands, clean bathroom break on the road. Lily sat at the table reading her book. Mike checked his notes. Ruth's medical updates were coming in via text. Family contact numbers were filling up the threads. Hospital rules, hospice

Visiting hours, parking situation. Okay, some of this is not relevant. He sorted and updated. He ate quickly, but not rushed. Wiped his hands, refolded the receipt into his folder, and got out the door.

Mike's head simply said, systems make chaos manageable.

On the road again, Lily leaned her head against the window. Dad?

Why do people have to die?

Mike's hands steady on the steering wheel. He didn't launch into biology. He didn't launch into theology.

He took a systems approach. Remember Lion King, sweetie? The circle of life. Life has cycles. Our bodies, they're designed to wear down. That's the design. It's not a flaw, it's the pattern. What matters is how you live the life you're given.

Lily engaged asked, so it's not broken? No sweetie, it's not broken. It's just the way it works. We trust God with the parts we don't know and can't control. And we do what we're supposed to do with the parts we do know and we can control.

as it came over the last turn.

Late into the night, Mike saw the hotel sign glowing on the horizon. Lily had been asleep for a while.

Parking lot, 11:42 PM. He smiles to himself. Three minutes ahead of schedule.

He checked in using his app, didn't need to go to the front desk, used his phone to open the door to the room, carried Lily in.

put her in bed, locked the door, turned off the lights, set his alarm and called it a day. Again, he optimized it. He nailed it. Saturday morning came and began like clockwork. Breakfast at 7:45 a.m. Bags repacked eight o'clock a.m. Out the door, 8 15 a.m.

At 8:55 Mike pulled into hospice. They'd had a nice little breakfast and they were ready to attack the day. Mike liked being early. It gives him time to observe before just diving in a little circumspect. Some might say he watched the movement of bodies and cars in the parking lot. He noticed the sign in procedure at the front desk. When they walked in, he noticed the visiting hours posted very clearly.

He made note of the restrooms, took Lily to them to make sure she knew where they were. Sanitizer station, full and functional. And then he approached Lily. Sweetie, here's what's going to happen when we walk into Aunt Ruth's room. He walked her through the plan. She said, I got it. And they stepped inside.

When they stepped inside, Ruth was resting but awake. Mike approached slowly with a steady presence, taking her hand gently. Aunt Ruth, it's Mike. Lily and I are here.

His voice carried no urgency, no strain, just a calm anchored tone. see, optimizers know that systems work best when they're running at a steady pace. Lily leaned in.

Her voice so small. Hi Aunt Ruth. Ruth opened her eyes and smiled faintly. Hey bright eyes, she whispered. Mike stayed close as they spent time with Ruth. He was tracking the rhythms of the room. He noticed when the nurse checked Ruth's vitals.

He noticed how long Ruth stayed alert when she drifted off. Notice the sounds, the beeps, the rhythms of the machines. Noticed all the chords. Made sure the flow was good. He made quiet notes in his head. Her strongest engagement mid morning. If anybody asks, this is the best time to be here. She's likely going to need more rest by afternoon. He whispers to Lily.

We'll make the most of this morning. This is her best time. At one moment Ruth stirred and she asked, Mikey you came all this way?

He squeezed her hand, of course. Family shows up. It's the right thing to do.

and his relatives drifted in later in the day. Mike, he gently organized the flow without announcing it. He offered chairs to the older cousins. He reminded one, hey, your phone is not in silent mode. He quietly asked one of the nurse about snack rules for visitors. He wasn't

bossing, he was smoothing. Optimizers don't need credit for order, but they do need order.

And through it all, he kept Lily near, but not overwhelmed. When Ruth tired, he walked Lily down the hallway to see the chapel. Pointing out the schedule for prayer services, the sign in book filled with careful handwriting. These people need this chapel to remember they're not alone. See, grief feels a lot less heavy when it's shared.

Our faith is one way we share our grief.

By late morning, Ruth dozed again. Mike leaned back in his chair, no rush. The plan is working, schedule's holding up. But more than that...

This rhythm, this pace, this system had done a deeper job. It had created a container sturdy enough for love to move without spilling.

By mid afternoon, Ruth had slipped into longer stretches of rest. The room grew quieter. Chairs pulled closer. Whispers, words at a time, replaced full sentences, spoken in a normal voice. Mike knew this rhythm isn't wasted time. It's part of the cycle. He encouraged Lily to open her sketchbook.

And just draw, draw whatever you're thinking, draw whatever you're feeling, draw whatever you're seeing. Optimizers know that every once in a while systems need recalibration. And today, the system was his family. He walked up and down the hallway pacing slowly. The vending machine, the water station, the chapel.

Yes, this is good. He came back into the room with those hard lemon candies, a couple in his hand from the jar that the receptionist keeps at the front desk. He offers one to Lily. She opens it eagerly. He offers one to Ruth.

She doesn't really know what it is. But he knows that small touches matter. See, his life isn't just about big frameworks. It's the little rituals that keep people steady. It's the things you do in your family that you do in your family. And his relatives rotated through, Mike, naturally, easily.

and orderly coordinated the flow, not with loud instructions, but with a firm presence that kept things in order. He even suggested, hey guys, it's been a long day. Why don't we give her a quiet hour for now? Everyone who's staying can come back around six. It wasn't a command, it was logistics. Everyone nodded, they stepped out.

the nurse stepped in. They needed someone to balance the room. Ruth's strengths were fading. The family's desire to be close was high, but they knew we needed to do it this way. So they nodded, grateful that someone had taken responsibility without making it a power play.

Mike and Lily stepped outside, said their goodbyes to the family who was there, and let those in charge who needed to know that he's only a phone call away.

Dinner that evening for Mike and Lily was as precise as the rest of the day had been. Mike had scouted a nearby cafe on his phone and confirmed they served a quick hearty meal, soups, sandwiches, water with lemon. This was fuel, not indulgence. He timed the meal so they would be back on the road in 30 minutes with enough rest for the long, long night ahead.

Back in the car, there was silence for a while, but once they got rolling, Lily asked, Dad, why do you plan everything? Glancing at his watch and looking at her, he said, sweetie, when life gets hard, good plans protect good people. Without a plan, stress runs the day. With a plan,

Love has some room to breathe. Lily thought about it. So planning is like love?

Planning is how love keeps its promises Mike said and he meant it

Five hours after they started their drive, they pulled into a hotel similar to the one they booked earlier with points. Lily had been out since sunset. Mike transferred her gently into the new room and they were there, both in bed and asleep by 11 p.m. Ready to wake up the next day at six o'clock for a quick departure.

The next morning, Mike was dressed, church clothes on and ready to walk out in 10 minutes. Lily sleepily, quietly slipped into her church dress, put on her nice shoes and didn't ask any questions. She simply followed his lead. The five hour drive yesterday set them up for a nice three hour drive this morning at 6:15 AM. They were on the road.

driving on a Sunday morning through a sleepy town that was empty and still. And yet they were right on schedule. Mike said to Lily, church starts at 9:15 sweetie. We're three hours away. This is good. So Mike put it on cruise control and just took in the sunrise and he remembered that God's mercies are new every morning.

That's the system God uses to remind us that there is always order around us.

Lillie leaned over to her daddy while he was driving. She said, daddy, I liked talking to Ruth about her bread, about her raisins. I liked that she called me bright eyes. She's so neat.

Mike stayed present, eyes ahead, listening, unhurried, to his sweet girl. Optimizers know that some minutes in life are margin. They're there not to fix anything or even to say anything. They're for listening. Follow the system, stay steady, and others can lean on you.

Mike knows this, he's always done this. And Lily was leaning on him. Lily was leaning on her steady daddy.

In his mind, he had already anticipated her next questions about life and death and bodies and spirits. But he also made space for her voice. When she asked these questions, he answered steadily, answering her curiosity with clear, structured explanations that she could hold for the rest of her life.

I've heard people say that funerals bring closure. What does that mean?

He said, well, sweetie, every system needs a finish line. Everybody needs to know that something is gonna end. So funerals are closure. They don't erase the grief. They don't move the feelings out of the way, but they give it a container. Your mind, your heart, your body can remember that moment, that chapter ending.

Then you take a breath and you turn the page and a new one can begin. Lily nodded slowly, chewing on these deep thoughts like that hard piece of lemon candy yesterday.

On the drive to church, Mike managed the hours with precision, no fuel stop needed because he had done so the night before. They hopped out for a quick stretch break about 90 minutes through the trip jumped back in.

kept going. He did not want to get to church exhausted. By the time they pulled into the parking lot, Mike felt a little tired, but steady. He kept the trip on rails from the first phone call to the return into the church parking lot. And really every moment of each day was to honor Ruth.

She had been honored. Lily had been guided. And the family had been held in a quiet structure that let grief breathe without breaking. Mike, the optimizer dad, had done what he does best. Build systems and execute them so that they can carry meaning.

and they walked into church looking fresh and of course right on schedule.