AITJ for Spending My Late Son’s Education Fund on a Beer Trip to Europe?

After losing his brilliant son, a grieving father chose to honor an old joke they shared—by taking a pilgrimage to Belgium instead of repurposing his son’s unused college fund.

For years, a Canadian father saved money for his son’s education, teasing that if the boy didn’t go to university, he’d use it to fly to Belgium and buy beer from monks. It was a silly family joke, a shared laugh that carried warmth and pride. But after tragedy struck, that lighthearted promise became something deeper—a way to grieve and remember.

My son was smarter than me—and after losing him, I’m keeping one promise we laughed about for years.

The father and son had a running joke about his Registered Education Savings Plan—a Canadian fund meant for college expenses. If the boy skipped university, Dad joked, he’d spend it traveling to Belgium to drink monk-brewed beer. But the son, bright and determined, earned a scholarship to McGill. They shared a celebratory pint, laughing at the lost “beer trip.”

"When he got accepted to McGill, it was the proudest moment of my life. We went for a beer to celebrate—and to mourn my lost trip to Europe."

Then, tragedy. In March, his son was struck and killed by a drunk driver. The father was left navigating unbearable grief, supported by his wife and ex-wife as they arranged the funeral. When his ex asked what he planned to do with the education fund, he said he would finally take that trip to Europe, in his son’s honor. She wanted the money for her stepson instead.

"She said I was wasting thousands of dollars. Maybe I am. But my son would laugh his ass off if he knew I actually did it."

He refused to give the money away, choosing instead to fulfill the joke they’d shared. To him, it wasn’t about the beer—it was about keeping a promise, celebrating his son’s wit, and carrying a piece of him across the ocean.

🏠 The Aftermath

He began planning his trip to Belgium, determined to visit the monasteries his son had once joked about. His ex-wife, angry, called him selfish. But his current wife stood by him, understanding it as an act of love, not indulgence.

He’ll return the government’s portion of the RESP, knowing it’s not financially smart but emotionally right. His son’s scholarship money will remain untouched, a symbol of potential that was tragically cut short.

For the father, the journey isn’t about beer—it’s a way to grieve, laugh, and remember the bond they shared over humor and pride.

“It’s not a waste. It’s my way of saying cheers to the smartest person I ever knew.”

The irony isn’t lost on him: honoring his son, taken by a drunk driver, with a drink. But to him, it’s about life’s fragile absurdity—and the need to keep promises, however small.

💭 Emotional Reflection

Grief often defies logic. What looks like waste to one person can be sacred to another. This father’s decision isn’t about money—it’s about keeping connection alive through humor and ritual.

His ex sees irresponsibility; he sees memory. After all, grief can take the shape of laughter, travel, or even a cold glass raised in remembrance.

There’s no perfect way to mourn. Reasonable people may disagree, but the love behind his actions is undeniable—and that may be all that matters.

Readers were deeply moved by his bittersweet story:

“NTA. That trip isn’t wasting money—it’s honoring your son exactly how he’d want.”

“This broke my heart and made me smile. Please take that trip. He’d be laughing with you.”

“There’s no wrong way to grieve. This is beautiful, funny, and devastating all at once.”

Commenters overwhelmingly supported him, recognizing that closure sometimes comes in unexpected, even humorous ways. The consensus: love can look like a beer in Belgium and a memory that never fades.

🌱 Final Thoughts

This isn’t about beer or money—it’s about love that refuses to fade, even in laughter’s echo. The trip is a toast to a son who lived smart, loved deeply, and inspired joy.

Sometimes honoring someone means keeping the jokes alive, because that’s where they still exist—between a father, a glass, and the memory of a shared smile.

What do you think?
Would you have left, or stayed and kept trying to make it work? Share your thoughts below 👇