Let loved ones know how much you care ... before it's too late

July 23, 2007

Tomorrow marks nine years since my father passed away.

After he underwent surgery for an aortic aneurysm, I visited my father in the hospital and told him I loved him. Always trying to make people smile, Dad responded, “Well, I’ve grown kind of fond of you, too.”

Two weeks later, my father re-entered the hospital because his surgical wounds had become infected. Pneumonia set in. Then his heart failed. He was only 69.

That night, my sister and I tried to persuade our mother to sleep, but she was frantically sorting through Dad’s nightstand pulling out papers: an Irish blessing, a poem from my brother—and a letter I had written to my father at least 10 years earlier.

My sister began to read the letter aloud, and any semblance of composure I had evaporated into a heart-rending wail and a flood of tears.

Dear Dad,

Hi. I don’t usually write to you, but I want to share with you some feelings I have. It’s important for you to know how much I love you. We sometimes clash and sometimes fight, but you are very special to me Dad. You are truly a very special person.

Sometimes, when your kids act up or sass back, you must wonder why you even bothered with us. I don’t know why you did, sometimes. We can all be real pains in the butt. But we’re also very good people, and we have you to thank for that.

Y’know, Dad, you’ve given each of us an appreciation of the lighter side of life. We’ve learned from you how to laugh, even when things seem to be all upside down. You taught us to look ahead when we’re down. I still remember the time I lost my dorm room and called home crying and you said, “What were you worried about this time last year?”

Well, at the time I didn’t know or care. But the point was well taken, and I’ve often thought of it since.

We all know we can survive, thanks to you. We all know how to laugh. And we care about people—especially the underdog. I know that I sometimes felt like the underdog growing up (middle child syndrome, I guess) but you often stuck up for me, when it seemed the whole world was against me. I’ve never told you how much I appreciated that. You probably figured I didn’t notice.

But I did. And I love you for it.

And, Dad, you taught us to be honest with others. I never even go a penny over on gas without paying for it. I learned that from you. And I know it’s a good standard to live by. And I try.

So Dad, during those times when you get fed up with us, or just feel blue, please remember the good qualities you have. And know that those wonderful traits that make you the person you are are ingrained in each of your children to varying degrees.That’s a legacy nobody can match. After all, you’ve got a half dozen of ’em running around!

So, Dad, I want you to know how much I really do love you. Please don’t forget it, even when it seems like I do (when we fight). Because I never do forget how much I love you.

Julie


I scarcely remember writing the letter. I think my dad had been despondent, or perhaps it was after one of our frequent clashes in my 20s. My dad knew I loved him. I told him in the hospital. But more than that, I told him years ago, before I thought of losing him.

A year ago last spring, I attended a funeral vigil for a 34-year-old Longview man who went to sleep one night and didn’t wake up the next morning. At the vigil, someone stood and read a letter that the man’s sister, who lived in Toledo, had written and mailed to him three years earlier. She thanked him for helping her with homework, attending her sporting events and simply being a wonderful brother and friend.

Although she still grieves his loss, she can take comfort in knowing that she told her brother how much he meant to her. He knew how much she loved him.

Tonight, when the day is done, close your eyes and think about the most important people in your life. What do you want to tell them?

Then write a love letter to your family members—today—and share it with them. Do it now—because tomorrow may never come.

Julie McDonald Zander is a personal historian and former journalist who lives in Toledo. She owns Chapters of Life, a company dedicated to preserving the past, one family’s story at a time. Her Web site is www.chaptersoflife.com She can be reached at memorybooks@chaptersoflife.com