It’s Never Too Late to Say I Love You

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Whew! I just barely survived a workshop in Sedona, Arizona, withonly a fragment of my old sense of self in tact—and that ...
a thread. I was grateful for what I learned from the ...
Le Whew! I just barely survived a workshop in Sedona, Arizona, withonly a fragment of my old sense of self in tact—and that hangingby a thread. I was grateful for what I learned from the seminarleader Lester Levenson and for the positive changes I made.
ButI left the human potential seminar filled with sadness,frustration and regret. During the conference, many people,especially men, expressed their recent joy and thankfulness inreconnecting with their estranged fathers.
They shared with ushow 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 toexperience an exchange of love with him. Throughout my life, Ioften remarked to friends that it would take an act of God, amiracle, to reconcile my father and me.
And that is exactly whatit took.After the final session of the seminar, I shuffled off to mymotel room, packed my bags for an early morning flight, and hitthe sack. However, sleep eluded me.
I kept seeing the happyfaces of those fortunate guys who reconciled with their dads. Icould still hear their joyous laughter as they compared storieswith each other and the group.Memories of my father and our countless arguments played overand over in my mind.
My dad and I never spoke much aboutanything, let alone affection or feelings. In anger andarrogance, 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!” Thatone phrase was our central conversation.
For twenty years, ourmain communication to each other was that the other one wouldfind out he was wrong—about whatever topic we disagreed, aboutlife in general, about everything! I winced at our voices ofanger reverberating through my mind and then cut off by theabrupt 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 motelroom for a late night walk.Shoulders hunched, eyes staring at the pavement below my feet, Itook a sorry stroll through dark and empty streets.
I’d beenwandering aimlessly for some time when, through my self-absorbeddespair, I noticed a faint, yet definite glow of golden lightaround the manhole covers I’d been passing over. I examined eachlid I came upon, but could not discover the source of the soft,vague radiance.In my understanding of the world, abnormalities—such as thisfaint shimmer—in my “normal environment” are never an accident.These irregularities in the “expected picture” are usually myspirit’s way of trying to get my attention.
This signal means myinner coach has a message for me and wants me to listen up. It’slike “You’ve got mail!” on the computer.
This particular sign ofa soft glow is familiar to me. A faint radiance has been one ofmy soul’s principal devices to attract my attention and get meto go inside to check in with my intuition concerning thesituation.So, when I got back to the quiet of my motel room, I did a quickmeditation to see what message was waiting for me.
My innervoice answered immediately, “Look more closely at the manholecovers.” I recalled the metal lids in my mind. Afterconcentrating for a few moments, I saw they were all engravedwith the same large words.
The inscriptions read: “Salt RiverProject.” This is the utility company in which my father hadleft a sizable trust for my brother and me. As I contemplatedthis connection to my father and his generous gift to us, Idetected another muted, golden glow emanating from the corner ofthe bedroom.I turned to face the light and gasped.
Standing by the wallstood my father in spirit form! The apparition was so real Ialmost evoked the courage to reach out and touch his hand.Twenty years of intense, backed-up emotion rushed like anexpress train through my being. I was relieved when he began tospeak:“Son, I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help you with emotional orspiritual affairs while we were together on Earth.
I couldn’tassist you with those aspects of life, because I couldn’t helpmyself in those areas when I was alive. I did share with youeverything I knew of the material, financial, political andsocial worlds.
That was all I’d mastered. Please forgive me fornot helping you with your feelings or spirituality.
I am movingon now, Keith. I came to say good-bye and tell you this manLester is in your life to assist you with your emotional andsoul concerns.
Trust him. Spend time with him.
Open to him inthe 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. Ilove you.
I understand. I love you.”I was graced with the opportunity to tell my father that I lovedhim fervently.
I also asked him to forgive me for being such arebellious, ungrateful son. By the time he said his finalfarewell, we each knew the other was very sorry.
We also totallyforgave ourselves, as well as each other. In the end, Irecognized there was nothing to forgive for either of us.
Wegave to each other all we had available at the time to give. Islept more peacefully and fulfilled that night than I’d everslept before in my life.In retrospect, I now laugh at the universe’s sense of humor.
Thesharp, attacking words my father and I so loved to throw at eachother were more accurate and prophetic than we could ever haveimagined. “You’ll find out!” had a hidden soul message for bothof us.
We each did eventually “find out!” Although neither of uswas consciously aware of it, we were both foretelling oureventual spiritual understanding of life and of our trueconnection with each other.I also found out—to my eternal delight—that it’s never too lateto say, “I love you.” Source: Free Articles from ArticlesFactory.com .