It’s Never Too Late to Say I Love You

Whew! I just barely survived a workshop in Sedona, Arizona, with
only a fragment of my old sense of self in tact—and that hanging
by a thread. I was grateful for what I learned from the seminar
leader Lester Levenson and for the positive changes I made. But
I left the human potential seminar filled with sadness,
frustration and regret. During the conference, many people,
especially men, expressed their recent joy and thankfulness in
reconnecting with their estranged fathers. They shared with us
how fulfilling it was to tell their fathers they loved them, and,
in many cases, to even have the expression of affection returned.
Since my father was long dead, I felt I’d blown my chance to
experience an exchange of love with him. Throughout my life, I
often remarked to friends that it would take an act of God, a
miracle, to reconcile my father and me. And that is exactly what
it took.

After the final session of the seminar, I shuffled off to my
motel room, packed my bags for an early morning flight, and hit
the sack. However, sleep eluded me. I kept seeing the happy
faces of those fortunate guys who reconciled with their dads. I
could still hear their joyous laughter as they compared stories
with each other and the group.

Memories of my father and our countless arguments played over
and over in my mind. My dad and I never spoke much about
anything, let alone affection or feelings. In anger and
arrogance, the last words I spoke to him while he was alive were
“You’ll find out!” Some send-off I gave him!

And his last words to me were the same: “You’ll find out!” That
one phrase was our central conversation. For twenty years, our
main communication to each other was that the other one would
find out he was wrong—about whatever topic we disagreed, about
life in general, about everything! I winced at our voices of
anger reverberating through my mind and then cut off by the
abrupt slam of a door—his death. Yes, it was too late for me.
Finally, unable to shake the feeling of hopelessness and self-
judgment to find solace in sleep, I dressed and left my motel
room for a late night walk.

Shoulders hunched, eyes staring at the pavement below my feet, I
took a sorry stroll through dark and empty streets. I’d been
wandering aimlessly for some time when, through my self-absorbed
despair, I noticed a faint, yet definite glow of golden light
around the manhole covers I’d been passing over. I examined each
lid I came upon, but could not discover the source of the soft,
vague radiance.

In my understanding of the world, abnormalities—such as this
faint shimmer—in my “normal environment” are never an accident.
These irregularities in the “expected picture” are usually my
spirit’s way of trying to get my attention. This signal means my
inner coach has a message for me and wants me to listen up. It’s
like “You’ve got mail!” on the computer. This particular sign of
a soft glow is familiar to me. A faint radiance has been one of
my soul’s principal devices to attract my attention and get me
to go inside to check in with my intuition concerning the
situation.

So, when I got back to the quiet of my motel room, I did a quick
meditation to see what message was waiting for me. My inner
voice answered immediately, “Look more closely at the manhole
covers.” I recalled the metal lids in my mind. After
concentrating for a few moments, I saw they were all engraved
with the same large words. The inscriptions read: “Salt River
Project.” This is the utility company in which my father had
left a sizable trust for my brother and me. As I contemplated
this connection to my father and his generous gift to us, I
detected another muted, golden glow emanating from the corner of
the bedroom.

I turned to face the light and gasped. Standing by the wall
stood my father in spirit form! The apparition was so real I
almost evoked the courage to reach out and touch his hand.
Twenty years of intense, backed-up emotion rushed like an
express train through my being. I was relieved when he began to
speak:

“Son, I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help you with emotional or
spiritual affairs while we were together on Earth. I couldn’t
assist you with those aspects of life, because I couldn’t help
myself in those areas when I was alive. I did share with you
everything I knew of the material, financial, political and
social worlds. That was all I’d mastered. Please forgive me for
not helping you with your feelings or spirituality. I am moving
on now, Keith. I came to say good-bye and tell you this man
Lester is in your life to assist you with your emotional and
soul concerns. Trust him. Spend time with him. Open to him in
the way we could never open to each other on Earth. I love you,
Son. Good-bye.”

Sobbing with joy and relief, I blurted out, “Thank you, Dad. I
love you. I understand. I love you.”

I was graced with the opportunity to tell my father that I loved
him fervently. I also asked him to forgive me for being such a
rebellious, ungrateful son. By the time he said his final
farewell, we each knew the other was very sorry. We also totally
forgave ourselves, as well as each other. In the end, I
recognized there was nothing to forgive for either of us. We
gave to each other all we had available at the time to give. I
slept more peacefully and fulfilled that night than I’d ever
slept before in my life.

In retrospect, I now laugh at the universe’s sense of humor. The
sharp, attacking words my father and I so loved to throw at each
other were more accurate and prophetic than we could ever have
imagined. “You’ll find out!” had a hidden soul message for both
of us. We each did eventually “find out!” Although neither of us
was consciously aware of it, we were both foretelling our
eventual spiritual understanding of life and of our true
connection with each other.

I also found out—to my eternal delight—that it’s never too late
to say, “I love you.”