When Love Ain’t in the Form You’d Like

A reader of The Wealthy Soul book series wrote me a touching letter after reading my books. Below is my response, and in the link after you’ll find his letter:

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Dear Steve,

What a beautiful letter! Besides some touching similarities between our dads, your Dad’s ways makes me think how everyone has their own way of showing and sharing their love. All we can do is accept it and be thankful for the form it takes (ie. your Dad and you with cars, me and my Dad with stocks –at least you had more of an interest in cars then I did in stocks!)

Life begins today, Steve. However your father was, however you are, it is 100% up to you how you continue to be.

Take the good and leave what you perceive as less good behind.

Grasp your life in your own hands and start developing the qualities of whoever you wish most to be!

God bless!

Michael

(See Steve’s letter by clicking "Continue Reading. . .")

Dear Michael:

I purchased The 9 Insights to read over Christmas as I was traveling to see in-laws and knew I would have time to read.  Most of my reading these days is on-line.

I felt compelled to write you after completing this book this morning.  I don’t write as well as you, but I’m going to share with you what I’ve learned about my inner journey over the last five years and how your writing has helped me.  I know you have received many accolades for this work just from the power and depth of your experience and the heart that you share.  You certainly have a gift for writing and I sense your connection and passion for what you do.  Who you are comes through loud and clear.  You have helped me bring closure on several issues.  After you read this I would appreciate any insight you can give me as I am still on this healing journey.

My father died of lung cancer almost five years ago.  I’ve been on a journey to discover why I have lived in such a state of disconnection from people most all of my life.  Through his passing I have learned to make myself vulnerable and heal some of the relationships that are so important to me.  I have learned that my ‘disconnect’ was a result of my ‘tense’ relationship with my father.  Sons and fathers seemed to have this experience in common.

Unlike you, my father got his diagnosis six months before his death and forbid my mother from telling any of us.  This was his way of thinking that we wouldn’t have to be burdened with progression of his death and unnecessary worry.  Many times he would withhold information from us during our life for these same reason.  He went so far as to keep his O2 tank in the back seat of his car.  He would come to visit for 10-15 minutes and then leave after this short time because he needed to have access to his O2.  He would do this when visiting each of his children.  We did not know this. What I know now is that the courage and stamina that he had was beyond my understanding.  He was a man who was disconnected from people because of his experience in World War II.  In the south Pacific his entire company was killed except for him.  When coming back to the States he was in a hospital for many months from shrapnel wounds in his stomach.   A German Luger that he had tucked in his belt saved his life.  My aunt, his sister, once told me that he had received a Dear John letter from his first wife while overseas.  He never spoke of this to us.  I learned on my own by piecing information together that he suffered from Post War Distress before it was understood and he never received help.  He was raised without a father, from the time he was nine, by a mother that was very harsh and critical.  He started working when he was 14.  He was an engineer by choice with one year of college.  He once told me that he would much prefer to work with things rather than people.   He was not emotionally present for us and when we displayed emotion he would often become angry or direct us what to do.  As a result, we learned that this was not a ‘safe’ thing to do.  I spent a great deal of time in my maturation trying to ‘understand’ him.   From the time I was 14 until about 20, I didn’t want to be around him much.  Our connection time was working on cars together.

I got the call from my mother about ten days before his death telling me that he had been hospitalized and had fluid drained from his lung and was now home.  Six days later he was admitted to the hospital and my wife called me with the diagnosis after reading his chart at the bedside.  The doctor’s did not expect him to live beyond two weeks (he passed within 4 days).  I went to see him that day.  Our conversation went something like this.

He asked me what I was doing there and shouldn’t I be at work (his ironic sense of humor).   I told him that I heard that he was sick.   He wouldn’t directly speak about it.  He told me that since I worked in healthcare (finance) I probably dealt with this all the time and he implied that this would be easy for me to handle.  I knew at this moment that his independence was finally being taken away and that he had to rely on others for all his needs to be met.  (probably a fate worse than death, from his perspective).

I remember him saying to me, “I haven’t been much of a father to you.”

His statement so caught me off guard and I couldn’t go to that place because shared emotion was foreign to us.

I told him that this experience for him had to be difficult knowing how self-reliant he was and being confined in a hospital bed.  This had to be driving him crazy.

He had never talked to me about his war experience until this moment.  I’d asked him about the war on several occasions.   He told me that he had seen hundreds of men during the war carried out in body bags and that he had seen many take their own lives in order to end their own suffering.  He said that if he had a gun he could do that himself that this didn’t scare him.  He implied that he asked his Doctor to consider giving him something and the Doctor became angry with him (not unlike Dad to be very proactive and confrontational).

I sat with him for at least and hour and a half making small talk.  As I got up to leave, I walked over to him and put my hand on his shoulder and told him I would be back again soon.  He touched my arm.  Verbal and physical exchanges of caring are very difficult for my family.   When I got to my car I broke down.   I saw him everyday for the next two days with family present on each occasion.  What became clear to me was that he was saying good bye to each of us in his own way.  He passed that Thursday morning at about 6:30 a.m.  We were present for his last breath.  He was unconscious but I know he sensed our presence.

He had six months to plan everything from funeral arrangements down to the Realtor who would sell the home if necessary to move my mother closer to us.  He had left detailed information on notifying social security, his pension administrator, life insurance and had even signed over the title to his car in the event we needed to sell it.  I found so many instances of his detailed planning for his own death that I continued to be surprised/amazed for months after his death.

What I have learned is that I too had distanced myself from my family.  I have closed that gap and still have a ways to go.  I have also learned that I have a need to learn how to forgive him for my hardness is ‘in the way’ of all my relationships (this is necessary for my own healing).   I have also learned that the ‘hole in my soul’ comes from this dominant unsettled relationship with my father.  Unconsciously, I always sought his ‘approval’ while never feeling that I got it.  In reality, I could not hear it from him.

I am grateful that I was able to have the time with him before he passed.  It was truly a gift from God for my healing.  I didn’t know that then.  I was bothered by the fact that I didn’t have the courage to tell him how it had been for me that he was so disconnected from me and how much it hurt.

Your book helped me process a lot of the unresolved emotion and helped me bring closure to circumstances around my father’s death and his choice to be so closed and private.  He died like he lived.   He was fiercely honest, courageous, proud and strong.

His one wish was for us to spread his ashes up and down one stretch of highway that he had done the engineering work on for over twenty years as he had walked ‘every inch of that damn road.’   We haven’t done that yet.  There will be a time when I will know that I will receive a clear signal that it’s time.

In closing, he was well known for being able to keep cars running long after their useful life.  In particular he had a 1984 Chevy that he sold to me cheap after it had about 80,000 miles.   I drove the car to 135,000 miles and within a year after his death sometime in 2000 I sold the car because I thought it was too old and would soon become a money pit.   A year or two later as I left a 7/11 store a young man pulled up in the car (I knew the distinctive dents, wheel covers and broken hood ornament).  I told him that it had been my father’s car.  He said it was running fine and that he bought it a short time ago.  Then a year after this encounter the Chevy car was owned by someone different who lived in the same block as my church.   For at least a year I saw the Chevy most every Sunday morning parked on the street.   My children told me that I was mistaken.  I know I was not.

I can’t help but think that this was an angelic sign to me from beyond because of our connection around cars.  If you wanted to spend time with him you had to do the things that he was interested in doing.

I was meant to find your book.  I am very grateful.    Thank you for this gift.

Steve Marshall