I was looking through some old family photos the other day and I happened upon an envelope with an old letter inside. It is brown around the edges, deeply creased with holes in places.
In short it is fragile, but still in relatively good shape. It was a letter from my father to my mother. My mother and I were some three thousand miles away visiting my grandparents and the rest of my mother’s family in Pennsylvania. The year was 1953.
The emotion and connection in this letter is palpable. He misses my mother and me very much and he repeats this many times. He was so worried about our flight that he had to go out and water the lawn to think of something else. He asks about me crying when we left him and asks repeatedly if I’m okay now. In the end, he says he will not be separated from us again.
Reading this letter I realized that it could have been me writing it. The irony is that it took me till I was almost sixty and a serious brush with my mortality to find my voice to do it. Furthermore, as a relationship coach, it is an example of what I preach to others to do.
The reach of fate, the synchronicity, and the belief that we are all one small part of the whole that is mankind and all that is the universe is not lost on me. Indeed it was staring back at me in that sheet of worn paper written by the hand of my father.