My dad died from work-related mesothelioma. Receiving compensation was both empowering and painful.

The author.Courtesy of Kate Hash.

Growing up, the concept of inheritance wasn’t something I really understood, let alone expected to experience. Everyone I knew in my Philadelphia suburb had working-class parents — janitors, service workers, laborers, and many, like my dad, steel workers. When grandparents or other relatives died, there was usually enough money for a funeral with a nice food spread in a church basement. After that, life moved on. We didn’t know what inheritance was.

A glimpse of what’s to come

I had a sense early on that the work my dad did in a steel mill was risky. Workplace injuries were common, but the men would recover and then return. It could also be economically risky. Layoffs in the ’80s and ’90s were common, and there would be stretches when my dad was home, and the stability of the household was in question. The union and kind relatives would help keep us afloat, and inevitably he’d be back to work.

In my teens, a strange thing started to happen. A few times a year, a check would show up in the mail. I didn’t quite understand what was happening, but my dad, with his dark humor, would open the envelope and yell, “another death check.” My parents would laugh.

Sometimes the checks were a measly $100. Sometimes those checks would cover a weeklong trip to the Jersey Shore. Death checks. I let the phrase roll around my developing brain, but it still didn’t make sense.

Over time, I learned that my dad and his coworkers were compensated for exposure to hazardous materials in their workplace. It felt like free money to us because he wouldn’t really be killed by his work. Or so we thought.

Then reality hit

One spring morning, a few years after he retired, my dad was out on a walk and felt a specific, sharp pain in his chest. He didn’t think it was a heart attack but knew enough to know it wasn’t right. A few trips to the doctor confirmed the worst.

Story continues

Those checks? They were death checks. Or, maybe more precisely, pre-death checks. He was diagnosed with mesothelioma, a cancer that, by in large, kills men and women who have worked hard jobs surrounded by toxic materials. The prognosis is rarely good and often terminal.

My dad lived for six months after his diagnosis. I don’t think he ever believed he would really die from his cancer. The death checks had been so funny; this was so serious. But, he did die, and what came next surprised my mom, my siblings, and me. Because he was killed by the mesothelioma, which was directly a result of his work, we were entitled to more money.

We had an inheritance

Over the coming few years, new checks would arrive, but they were bigger this time around. We’re not talking about Succession-level wealth, and my siblings and I certainly didn’t become overnight millionaires. We are, however, talking about an amount of money that my teenage self and the daughter of a steelworker couldn’t possibly imagine having the bank. This was more than funeral expenses and a nice food spread.

The inheritance arrived at the same time as my own earning power increased in my career. I was overwhelmed and slightly embarrassed by this influx of money and the comfort it allowed my family.

What caught me off guard was how it all felt like inheritance — not just the checks. My dad had a 9th-grade education and as a first-generation college student my success was a direct result of his and my mom’s hard work. I had my career as a result of their sacrifice; my career, my life itself was a hard-earned inheritance.

Most people assume that inheriting money is fun, but the truth is that inheritance is complicated. The freedom feels good and empowering but also sorrowful. My dad was a happy-go-lucky guy, and as I deposit those checks, I imagine him saying, “Stop being so serious and enjoy it!” Of course, it’s not that simple, and for years I felt a paralyzing pressure to spend it wisely or not at all. It turns out that inheritance can also be debilitating.

I wish he were here to enjoy the money with us

Over the past year, I’ve spent time assessing and understanding my relationship with money and wealth. I’ve taken courses and read a few books to unpack what many would file under the category of generational trauma around money, as I realized my issues were about more than just this moment.

I’ve discovered that much of my sadness around the money has been primarily caused by wishing my dad was here to experience it with us. He worked so hard for so long, and he isn’t here to experience what we’ve gained. I know now that the best I can do is honor him with my inheritance and the freedom it provides. After the work I’ve done over the last year, I’m now allowing the money to bring light to my life instead of weighing me down.

This will be my fifth Father’s Day without my dad, and it will always be a bittersweet day. This year, however, will be the first time I feel in touch with and comfortable in the power of the inheritance that my dad has left me.

Read the original article on Insider