What No One Tells You: Recovery, Grief, and the Brotherhood That Shows Up
NFR Blog | Recovery + Community
A conversation with three members of Sad Dad’s Club (SDC)
Grief can shake even the most seasoned recovery. It's unpredictable and relentless. What happens when we face one of the hardest moments of our lives without the tools we always turned to? Or when those moments hit and substances are still the go-to? This month, we're talking about what happens when loss, grief, and recovery intersect in the hardest way imaginable: the loss of a child.
When it comes to my recovery, one of the single biggest factors that drew me in was community. Relatability. Safety in shared experience. How we build that community is different for everyone and often related to our pathways for recovery. That phrase gets thrown around a lot — but what does it actually mean?
It's easy to name the traditional ones: AA, NA, SMART, Dharma, fitness-based pathways. But what about beyond those? That's where it gets harder. The possibilities are endless though. Sometimes they just don't look how we think they might. Sad Dad's Club is a powerful example of that.
SDC is personal for me. My brother and his wife lost their daughter Izzy shortly before I entered recovery. As much as I'll always try to understand what they went through, I know I can't — not the same way as someone who lived it. In the weeks and months that followed, my brother started talking with two friends who had. What started as three Dads sharing their experience eventually grew into a global community where Loss Dads support each other at every stage.
I am so proud of my brother. He has always been a role model and was one of my biggest supporters when I got sober. I’m grateful that an entire community gets to experience the person he is on such a meaningful level. I know that supporting countless Dads with their loss doesn’t eliminate the grief from his own. I also know that Izzy is beyond proud of her Dad and the amazing community he helped bring together to support one another, because of her.
On a recent visit, we were talking about how much SDC had grown and how it reminded me of what I found in 12-step. I asked if any of the Loss Dads were also in recovery. When I learned some were, it made me wonder — could this be one of those non-traditional pathways? A community sharing lived experience to support one another in a way that isn't centered around substances but runs parallel to it.
We spoke with three Dads who are SDC members in recovery: Josh McGill - Leni’s Dad, Neil McElroy - Lucas’ Dad, and Alex Rodriguez - Isa’s Dad. Each came to sobriety differently. Their losses are different. Their timelines are different. But they share something rare — a willingness to say out loud what most men won't.
We asked them five questions. Here's what they said.
Meet the Three Dads
Sober since 2023. Josh and his wife made a promise to their daughter as she was dying, a promise they have both kept every day since.
Six years sober when Lucas passed in 2021. Neil has worked in recovery services since 2019 at the organization that helped save his life in 2015.
Found sobriety two months after losing Isa in May 2025. Now almost eight months sober, Alex draws strength from both AA and the SDC community.
Our loss is what triggered my sobriety. Prior to our loss, I always knew I had addictive tendencies, and that I went through periods of heavy drinking and periods where I "swore it off" for a while. I was aware, but it was difficult to control. I'm the type of drinker that once I have one drink, it usually leads to more and more drinks. When I was 18, I got a DUI after wrecking my car and had to go to court mandated group sessions and AA meetings. This slowed down my drinking going into my college years, which was probably a good thing. I still drank but definitely not as much as I would have if that didn't happen. That effect wore off eventually though, especially during my fire department years.
Fast forward to Leni. When she was dying in the hospital, my wife and I knew we were at a crossroads with drinking. We knew that if we went down the road of drinking to numb ourselves, we would probably get ourselves in a hole we would never recover from. We promised our dying daughter that we wouldn't drink to numb the pain of her loss. We had my parents remove every bottle of alcohol in the house to avoid the temptation, but the promise to our daughter ended up being stronger than that. That was 2023, and neither of us has had a drink since then.
At the time my wife and I lost Lucas, I was at the 6 year mark of sobriety, of which I can 100% attribute to a long-term treatment in Omaha, Nebraska, called Arch Inc. I can honestly answer that the craving or need to drink never crossed my mind for a second, but I did and still do look back in amazement at that fact. Prior to sobriety I had absolutely hit bottom and was ready and willing to do whatever it took to drag myself back from simply existing to actually living again. The loss of Lucas was the hardest thing we have ever had to walk through and this will continue for the rest of our lives, but when I "play the tape forward" as to what life would be if I actively chose relapse, I see a very quick descent back into delusion, disparity, and ultimately death, as I was the classic hospital drunk. I was patient enough and leaned on resources around me in recovery to a point where it was clear that if I so selfishly needed to drink over our loss, then I would surely lose my job, family, house, and then my life. I can't imagine that would be honoring our son.
Recovery and grief support very much go hand in hand for me. I could not maintain sobriety without my loss community. Similarly, I could not cope with the grief of child loss without AA. Sharing my sobriety struggles and victories while overcoming grief with my AA community helps me keep my child's memory alive while potentially helping someone who might be dealing with their own grief. My sobriety was a direct result of losing my daughter, Isabela. We lost Isa May 24, 2025. Two months after we lost her, I found myself in jail because I was (unwisely) coping with alcohol. It was a tough lesson, but in that moment I knew I was doing a disservice to my daughter by continuing down a destructive path. Her life mattered, albeit a short one. While I can't control what happened, I can control how I react to it. Choosing to be the best version of myself is the only way I can continue to parent Isa. I am still her Dad and recovery helps me be the best Dad to her I can be. I have, since, been sober now for almost 8 months.
We promised our dying daughter that we wouldn't drink to numb the pain of her loss. We had my parents remove every bottle of alcohol in the house to avoid the temptation, but the promise to our daughter ended up being stronger than that.
SDC is a community, a lifeline, a brotherhood, and many more things. It's a constant that I know I can return to when I need it. With so much uncertainty and change in life, I know that SDC will be there. It's also become a way for me to honor and spend time with Leni, helping newer dads through their loss or providing relatable experiences to other dads.
I wished I had known of SDC back in 2021 when Lucas passed, but since becoming a member in June of 2025, I have discovered a community of men in large part that doesn't feel forgotten. This platform has created a safe space to vent, ask questions, joke, and otherwise connect with other individuals that actually have a baseline understanding of what we're going through. I have literally in real time seen dads go from posting funny memes and trading laughs in one channel to offering solid advice and a shoulder to cry on in another channel without missing a beat.
Community. My time spent with SDC dads is the rare time I get to truly feel like a Dad. So much about recovery is being brutally honest and what can be more honest and vulnerable than talking about our dead children, when it often seems like no one else wants to?
I have literally in real time seen dads go from posting funny memes and trading laughs in one channel to offering solid advice and a shoulder to cry on in another channel without missing a beat.
It turns out that as hard as all of those are, the promise we made to Leni has been stronger. It was difficult at first, because all of those milestones and events are usually things we drink to celebrate, but my wife and I were in it together and knew we couldn't let our daughter down. After being sober for this long, I've come to be proud of my sobriety and being able to handle holidays and gatherings without the need for a drink.
I am maybe a little more removed time-wise from my loss than other dads and have had more time to address my struggles, which has in turn allowed me to be better prepared for annual dates related to the loss of Lucas. SDC also afforded me counseling sessions, at no cost, that were effective in not just Lucas-related thoughts, but just life stuff in general. From that I learned that, to this day, I have completely blocked out the memories tied to losing Lucas when we were in the hospital with him. I wasn't raised in an environment where you talked about your feelings, and I still very much repress and shove trauma down deep into the vault. Having said that, I'm confident that if and when memories arise, I won't find myself on the ledge so to speak. Almost eleven years ago in treatment, I just flat out put in work for my recovery that will have lasting effects as long as I keep working on it.
Staying sober is one way I can continue to parent a child who is no longer physically here. By being the best version of myself, I can ensure that Isa is proud to have me as a Dad. I don't shy away from the "clichés" of recovery, because they work. There is a David Foster Wallace quote I particularly like to come back to often that goes "It starts to turn out that the vapider the AA cliché, the sharper the canines of the real truth it covers." One Day At A Time is one that resonates in that way for me. Keeping it simple and remembering that every day I live the best version of myself is a day that I am honoring my baby girl's memory.
Staying sober is one way I can continue to parent a child who is no longer physically here. By being the best version of myself, I can ensure that Isa is proud to have me as a Dad.
I think it would depend on his situation. If it was a loss dad, I would obviously tell him all about SDC. If it was someone who hadn't experienced a loss, I would tell him to find a community — preferably a sober one — since it is so much easier to go down the road to recovery with others.
If and when I come across a fellow loss dad, I always mention SDC. The reality is that SDC may not be for everyone, but it's at the very least worth checking out. I honestly don't know how many resources there are in this country/world for loss dads, but it's worth every second to at least check SDC out. If on the other hand it's a loss dad who also happens to be in recovery, I'm gonna sell SDC hard, because the more tools one has in sobriety the better, I'd think.
No one can do this by themselves. If you ever feel like no one wants to talk about your kid or understands the pain, there are guys out there that want nothing more than to talk with you about them.
No one can do this by themselves. If you ever feel like no one wants to talk about your kid or understands the pain, there are guys out there that want nothing more than to talk with you about them.
Hearing about other's sobriety journeys is always humbling. Alcohol has taken me to very low lows, including the back of police cars, but it took my daughter dying to help me find sobriety, so I give huge kudos to those who make that leap without that kind of trigger. Community is about supporting one another on common ground. In our case, that common ground is life altering tragedy, so there's an extra added layer of understanding when it comes to relapses or rock bottoms.
When I see comments from a dad that's newly sober, or another describing his drinking and drugging habits shortly after his loss — I get it. I need to read these things, as it reminds me of how bad it got for me and how it never has to be that way ever again as long as I put in work. In one way or another, these comments remind me how much I have to live for and how many people — family — depend on me. Sometimes comments from other dads that are struggling remind me of how really alone I still feel with the loss of my son. SDC has been amazing, but there are still the thoughts that Lucas has been forgotten about, and I have to realize most people aren't equipped to deal with my feelings, and that's okay. The only way they could possibly get on the same level would be to lose a child or children of their own, and none of us would wish that on our worst enemy. I'll gladly accept their ignorance to the detriment of my feelings in that situation.
It was amazing to me that so many guys from all walks of life could share such similar emotions, feelings, struggles, victories, etc. No one's story is exactly the same but we are very much all connected by something. This connection — you may call it a higher power or call it coincidence or whatever you choose — but it is powerful and undeniable.
Community is about supporting one another on common ground. In our case, that common ground is life altering tragedy, so there's an extra added layer of understanding when it comes to relapses or rock bottoms.
A Note from NFR
Josh, Neil, and Alex gave their time and their honesty to this conversation because they believe it might help someone. That's what peer support looks like. It's not a program or a protocol; it's one person saying "I've been there" to another person who needs to hear it.
If you're in recovery and grieving, or grieving and wondering if recovery is possible, you don't have to figure it out alone. Sad Dad's Club offers weekly virtual meetups, ongoing retreats throughout the year, and helps cover the cost of clinical therapy for Loss Dads. If you'd like to learn more about what they do or support their mission, visit saddadsclub.org
New Foundations Recovery offers peer-led coaching from people with lived experience, who understand that the path isn't always straightforward, and that unexpected losses are some of the hardest things to carry.
Reach out. It costs nothing to have a conversation.