The Last Letter I Wrote Before My Father Died

I Don’t Know If He Read It Before He Passed to The Other Side

An image of Dad and Pat, his second wife, by Anthony Edgeworth

My father died within days of writing him the last letter of our wonderful life together. Over the years, we had exchanged countless cards, letters, stories, and conversations. I’m sure my father was a modern mystic, but he didn’t know it.

I found the letter yesterday morning while reviewing my Life Planning Notebook. Yes, I have had one for over thirty years. My reasoning is simple: If I don’t plan my life with intention, who will?

For my readers who know me well, you know how much I loved my father. He was my first hero, a positive role model, and the one who always said, “Clifford, no matter what happens, we will always love you. Please come to us with any of your troubles. We’re here to help you.”

The Last Letter

Dad lived in Florida, and my family and I live in Arizona. We didn’t get to see each other much. He was busy with his life, and I was with mine. But we were never too busy to exchange personal notes, cards, articles, and clippings of newspaper articles that inspired us. We also shared a love for reading books, and we talked at least once every week.

The context of my last letter to Dad was that our regular, weekly phone conversations had changed in tone. Dad seemed distant or distracted when we talked. Something was wrong with him, but he wouldn’t tell me. It turned out that his health was failing. 

He had been diagnosed with Leukemia but didn’t want anyone to know. The only way I found out was by calling his wife, Patrice. She told me what Dad could not or would not disclose; he was sick but too proud to ask for help. 

He didn’t love going to the doctor, but he was one of the healthiest, happiest, wisest, and most loving men I’ve ever known. Dad taught me about unconditional love. It was his way of being.

Here’s an excerpt from the opening:

June 10, 2014

Dear Dad:

I figured I’d write you a letter this year. You know how much I love boilerplate Hallmark cards. So, happy Father’s Day to you from the bottom of my heart. You are an incredible father.

It’s been a pretty amazing few years we’ve been through, respectively. The reason I called Pat a while ago is that while we both needed to focus on the tasks at hand, I feel we have drifted apart. I noticed the conversations we have had became fewer. And when we did speak, the conversations were nowhere near the depth of what I remember. So, thank you for responding with the last few phone calls and “stepping it up a bit.”

Speaking of memory, remember the time we sat on the field near the Manor and looked up at the sky, describing the beauty of the clouds? Remember the time you surprised me by showing up in Dijon, and we got to run together and share the beauty of the mustard fields in full bloom? Remember the amazing trip to China, where you shared with me the beautiful dining room and white tablecloths at the Peninsula Hotel? These are just a few of the memories I will always cherish.

My father grew up as a single child in a poor family. His mother raised him for the most part because his father traveled often as a salesman and died relatively young when I was a child. But he had a benefactor. A rich uncle financed his private education at Lawrenceville Prep and the University of Virginia. 

He met my mother as a debutante who came from inordinate wealth. My father learned to love life's finer things and travel the world. He included me as much as he could. The last trip we took together was to China in 1988, where we were doing business.

“Honesty Is the Best Policy,” Said My Father

The next portion of the letter rambles about me and how much I loved his devotion to me. I also describe what I was learning about myself: I am a recovering, self-centered control freak learning to remain married while raising young children and expanding my business happily.

The next part of my letter sets the tone for opening up and being more honest. Dad didn’t know I knew he had cancer, but here I tell him.

I realize how precious and short life can be. So, on this Father’s Day, I simply ask that we be “real, open, and honest” with each other as best we can. I don’t know what that sounds like or looks like. But let’s give it a shot and see what happens. Perhaps we can agree that we are free to say what we want without either getting defensive or feeling like we are intruding on personal space. I don’t know how to say it other than this.

Yes, it’s partly about me. But also, I want it to be about you, if that makes sense at all. Let’s talk about what we think we know and what we don’t know. Let’s talk about the things you have learned in your wiser years. Let’s talk more about real stuff. Let’s talk about things that we can honestly know in our hearts we won’t take to our respective graves so that perhaps there will be no regrets if one of us were to leave this place sooner than we think.

I omit the paragraphs following the above because they’re all about me. I closed the letter by writing about a poem by Robert Frost I had posted on Facebook. Frost was Dad’s favorite poet. I also reference our two sons, Chris and Alex, as my father gave me priceless insight to help me become a better father.

That’s why the poem I posted from Robert Frost was significant. I see the need for approval with Christopher more than Alexander. I think it is real for sons to seek constant acceptance and approval. Perhaps it’s the recognition of reaching beyond the limitations the father could not reach. Maybe that’s not it. I am still thinking through that part.

I believe you know how much I love you and admire you. We don’t always have to agree. We can agree to express how we feel and see how it goes.

I realize I may not be there for you as much as I could in your later years. So, let’s do our best to figure out how to spend more time together, even over the phone. 

I believe there is a Universal sort of reversal of the roles for fathers and sons and mothers and daughters. I see this very much with Julia and mother. I guess God has a reason for this. But I don’t know what it is. (The poem on the next page touches on this in a way that reveals the son always needs his father.) The reason I share this is I am here for you. I pray for you. I want to figure out how we can see each other more and be real with each other.

I love you.

Losing the People We Love Is Hard

Dad died on June 14, 2004. His wife called me just after 6 p.m., Arizona time. He had just come home from his first radiation treatment. He had a massive heart attack in his reading chair. We never talked again. I don’t know if he was able to read my letter. I’m not sure it arrived on time, even though I mailed it the same day I wrote it.

Losing Dad shattered me. I’ll never forget what it felt like to surf the tsunami of emotions that hit me with brute force. I sobbed for at least a month or two after Dad left. I shut down my business, took off for a few weeks, hopped onto my motorcycle, and rode cross country to see the small New Hampshire town where he chose to raise his family: Laconia, New Hampshire.

"The Little Boy Lost" is a poem by William Blake. It appears in his Songs of Innocence (1789). The poem is only eight lines long and tells the story of a young child searching for his father and getting lost in the darkness. The poem expresses the child's fear and helplessness as he wanders through the night. The theme of innocence is prevalent, reflecting the vulnerability of the child and the dangers of being abandoned or forgotten.

Here’s the excerpt from my last letter to my beautiful, loving Father:

The Little Boy Lost by William Blake

'Father, father, where are you going?

O do not walk so fast!

Speak, father, speak to your little boy,

Or else I shall be lost.'

The night was dark, no father was there,

The child was wet with dew;

The mire was deep, and the child did weep,

And away the vapour flew.

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Clifford Jones is the founder and managing partner of Clarity Strategic Coaching, LLC. He writes about mental health, consciousness, and the art of human transformation. Cliff serves company leaders as an executive coach, strategic advisor, and communications consultant. Learn more at www.CliffordJones.com.