The death of my father had a profound impact on me. We were close. We could talk for hours about music, politics, and the Packers. I would tell jokes that I knew only he would get. He was an artist who designed album covers for me. He was a musician, and we played gigs together as Fitzsimmons and Son. He even took music lessons from me.

He was sick for a long time. In the end he chose to stop care, and go home to be surrounded by family. It was the last thing he could take control of: his death. And he got exactly what he wanted.

I had the honor of being by his side when he passed from his human form. It was a life-changing experience to see death so up close–his final gift to me. I understood in my body that I too would lie there someday.

Two years prior my dad was in the audience for the premiere of The Greatest War. He loved it, as did so many others. The amazing response we received reflected the same joy, empowerment, sadness, and awe that went into its making.

I realized that this work of telling stories–history–through song, through fantastic multimedia productions, was what I wanted to do with my time remaining in this precious life. I wanted to create the most meaningful and impactful experience I could muster, putting every ounce of energy, experience, skill, and connection into play.

And I wanted–I want–to share it widely. The Greatest War was meant to be a one-time commemorative event. I want this new work to be able to travel all around the state and be performed in front of as many people as possible.

It’s a grand vision. An audacious plan. Much like performing a “rock and roll history show” about World War One at the Barrymore Theatre was a grand, audacious plan. Just crazy enough that it could work.

It is all-consuming, frustrating, gratifying, challenging, and connective work. It pushes all of my comfort zones. I love it. I am a man on a mission, as they say.

My dad wore many hats. Besides being an artist and musician, he was a union activist, a motorcyclist, a fisherman, a woodworker. He had the midwest farmer ethic in his bones, where he did everything for every project. If he didn’t have a tool, he would make one. He once built a lathe out of belts and wood. It didn’t work the first time so he tore it apart and rebuilt it–seven times–until it finally worked.

And so here I am, not only writing rock and roll history shows, but establishing a new production company. I learn the history, write the songs, research and archive the images, write the script, edit the videos, and rehearse the band all the while creating online content, managing the finances, building partnerships, promoting the shows, doing interviews, and planing, planning, planning.

I frequently create work, throw it away, and recreate it. Over and over. It’s deeply personal and yet I frequently “kill my darlings” as writers say. It’s the midwest farmer’s way.

And my dad is with me through it all. It’s carrying his history as well as my own.