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"The State of the Family Union" is an evocative guide that transcends a mere financial roadmap to offer a cultural inheritance designed to bridge generations. It's an homage to fatherhood, leadership, and the thoughtful curation of a family's journey through life's unpredictability. This manuscript champions the importance of documenting a family's ethos and nurturing plan, ensuring the continuity of wisdom, love, and intentional living. It serves as both a beacon for navigating the complexities of modern life and a blueprint for cultivating a meaningful legacy that resonates through time, urging readers to pen their own indelible mark on the continuum of familial bonds and shared experiences.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025
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STATE OF THE FAMILY UNION
A FATHER’S GUIDE TO LEADING WITH LOVE AND LEGACY
SAMUEL CUÑADO
Samuel Cuñado
State of the FAMILY Union
All rights reserved
Copyright © 2025 by Samuel Cuñado
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Published by Spines
ISBN: 979-8-90001-256-8
CONTENTS
Preface
Why I Wrote This Book
The Call for Clarity in Chaos
What is a State of the Family Union?
Why Every Head of Household Should Write One
The Emotional Return on Reflection
How to Get Started Without Overthinking It
Foundational Beliefs That Guide the Journey
Where Philosophy Meets Reality:
Running the Family Like a Business
Beyond the Horizon:
Building the Future One Year at a Time
Beyond the Horizon:
The Hardest Part, the Greatest Gift
The Power of Routine:
Making It an Annual Practice
Involving the Whole Family in Conversation
Writing with Purpose, Not Perfection
Legacy in Writing:
Preserving the message over time.
What happens after you share it?
When Nothing Was Written Down
The Benefits to You:
Reflection, Growth, Leadership
The Benefits to Your Family:
Connection, Clarity, Culture
Overcoming Resistance
From Awkward to Authentic
Start Today
A Template and Toolkit
Conclusion
A Simple Act, a Legacy
Appendix A
A Sample State of the Family Union
Appendix B
Prompts to Spark your Message
Appendix C
A Yearly Review Worksheet
Acknowledgments
About the Author
PREFACE
This book is neither a legal manual, a parenting guide, nor a memoir. It is something much more personal and much more practical.
It’s a guide to creating what I call a ‘State of the Family Union’: a yearly document written by the head of a household, often a father, but not always, that captures the emotional, relational, and practical state of your family. Think of it as your family’s compass. A reflection of where you are, what you believe, what you’ve learned, and what you hope to pass on.
We make detailed plans for our businesses, investments, and careers. But most of us never pause long enough to document the heart of what matters most about our families.
This book guides you through a simple yet powerful idea: take time, once a year, to write down what your family needs to know, not just about your finances or estate plan, but about you. Your beliefs. Your values. Your observations. Your love. Your guidance. Your story. Because when the time comes that you're no longer here or not available, those words will matter more than anything.
The chapters unfold like a conversation, beginning with why this practice is essential, especially in times of uncertainty. You’ll see how a written State of the Family Union bridges the gap between what we assume our families understand and what they need to hear from us.
You’ll then explore:
By the end of this book, you’ll have the tools to begin your version of a State of the Family Union. Not a perfect version. Not a finished one. Just a start. And that’s all you need.
Because what your family needs isn’t perfection.
They need your voice, your leadership, your heart, captured in a form that will outlast you.
You don’t need to be wealthy to do this. You don’t need to be a writer.
You need to care enough to make your voice transparent, your love intentional, and your leadership lasting.
This book is an invitation to lead, to reflect, and to write it down before it's too late.
Let’s begin.
WHY I WROTE THIS BOOK
Ten years ago, everything changed in a moment.
It was October 2015. I remember the weather, the way the light came through the window that morning, and the phone call I never saw coming. My father, strong, proud, and quiet, was gone, just like that. No warnings. No goodbyes. The world tilted sideways, and I haven’t walked the same since.
My dad wasn’t the kind of man to write long letters or share big emotional speeches. He showed love the way many men of his generation did: through doing. He fixed things. He worked hard. He provided. His love didn’t show up in words; it showed up in action. And yet, after he passed, I found myself desperately searching for words anyway, trying to find context and searching for closure. I needed to hear from him, not about money or logistics, but about life. About us. About what mattered.
And there were no words left.
Over the past decade, I’ve tried to piece him back together from memories. A look. A gesture. A ritual he kept. A phrase he used when he was tired. I’ve reflected more deeply on his legacy than I ever could have while he was alive. I now know he was the best father I could have ever asked for. But even with that knowledge, there are still moments I find myself aching for clarity. For a letter that never came. For a conversation we never had time to finish.
That ache stayed with me.
Then, as if life were pressing the point even harder, something else began happening. Over the past seven years, I’ve lost four men, each in their early fifties, just like me. Two of them suddenly, and the other two due to aggressive illness. No time to prepare. No warning. Just gone. These weren’t acquaintances or friends of friends. These were colleagues, partners, men I worked alongside for years. Two of them I considered good friends—one of them was born precisely on the same day and year I was. Brilliant, successful, generous men. Fathers. Husbands. Leaders. And when they died, their families were left with more than grief; they were left with questions and silence.
Yes, the legal documents were in place: trusts, wills, and insurance policies. But what was missing was something deeper: their voice. Their intentions. Their guidance. Their love on paper. Their families were not only grieving but also navigating chaos. They had the structure, but not the story, the map, but not the meaning. I saw the weight their spouses carried. The confusion their children tried to hide—the silent scramble behind the scenes. And I couldn’t help but think: It doesn’t have to be this way.
These events weren’t just coincidences; they were warnings. They were invitations. They were reminders of how fragile this all is and how important it is to leave more than a plan: to leave a presence.
As a father of four myself, I carry that weight every day. Our household has its complexity. My wife and I are a team; she’s the emotional glue, the nurturer, the quiet strength that keeps everything stitched together. I’ve always taken the lead on the financial side, investments, planning, and protection. Between the two of us, we’ve built a life filled with both beauty and challenge. One of our children has autism, which adds another layer of responsibility and intentionality. We’ve had seasons of uncertainty and seasons of celebration. And now, we’re in a good place. Stable. Grateful. But no less aware of how fast everything can change.
That’s the truth that lingers like background music in every quiet moment: What happens if I’m not here tomorrow?
And even more haunting: Would they be okay? Would they know what to do? What did I believe? What mattered most to me?
There’s another layer, too, one not immediately visible to those around me. I’m from Spain. I came to the U.S. at 18. Since then, I’ve lived in six different countries on three continents. That journey has shaped me profoundly. But my children only know the version of me that started after they were born. They don’t see the boy who grew up in Spain. They don’t understand the culture that raised me, the values that are embedded deep in my bones, or why certain traditions feel sacred even when I can’t explain them. And lately, I miss home more than I ever thought I would. I miss Spain. I miss the familiarity, the rhythm of the language, the old streets, and old friends. And part of me aches knowing that so much of what made me “ME” could disappear if I don’t find a way to pass it on.
So, I started writing.
Not because I had time, but because I didn’t want to waste any more of it.
But here’s something important I want to clarify up front: this book is not my State of the Family Union. That document is deeply personal. It includes reflections, instructions, and private thoughts that are intended only for my wife and children. What I share here is not the content of my letter, but the concept behind it. The framework. The process. The purpose. The why.
I’m not here to offer a template for how you should think, feel, or write. I’m here to invite you to a practice that helps you clarify your voice, values, and legacy.
The State of the Family Union is not a one-size-fits-all blueprint. It’s a living document that reflects your family, your beliefs, and your unique story. In the chapters ahead, I’ll explain how it works, why it matters, and how you can begin crafting your version in your own words and in your way.
Because maybe you’ve had your wake-up call. Perhaps you’ve felt the ache of unspoken words. Maybe you’ve carried the quiet fear of what would happen if you weren’t there to guide the people you love most. Perhaps you’ve wanted to leave something behind that means more than money—something they can hold onto when the world feels unsteady.
This book is my answer to those questions.
It’s not just a guide. It’s a mirror. A blueprint. A reminder that we all have something to say, that silence isn’t noble, and that clarity is a form of love.
If you’ve ever wanted to leave behind more than a balance sheet…
If you’ve ever wondered how your children will truly know you, not just remember you…
If you’ve ever watched someone disappear too soon and promised yourself you’d do it differently…
Then this book is for you.
This is why I wrote it. For my children. For my wife. For the man I still miss every day, my father. And for every person who’s ever wondered if their voice could still be heard after they’re gone.
It can.
It should.
And it starts now.
THE CALL FOR CLARITY IN CHAOS
I remember the day my father passed away not just because I lost him, but because I lost a voice. A voice I’d come to rely on for grounding, for perspective, and sometimes just to hear myself reflected back. His absence wasn’t just emotional; it was disorienting. It created a silence that made me realize how many unspoken thoughts he carried with him: thoughts about our family, his legacy, what mattered most, and what he wished he’d said out loud.
I was very close to my dad. He was from the north of Spain, proud, principled, and not especially expressive. Like many men from that region, his love wasn’t verbal; it was practical. He wasn’t the type to sit me down and talk through his feelings or philosophies. But I never doubted how much he cared. He showed his love by doing, providing, protecting, and building. You just knew. He didn't need to say it, and he probably wouldn’t have known how if he tried. But looking back, I see clearly now: every action was a message, every sacrifice a silent declaration. That’s part of what inspired me to begin writing. I didn’t want my children to have to read between the lines.
Now, in my early fifties, I find myself standing in a very different kind of moment. I’m a father of four, watching my children grow into their own identities, passions, and convictions. One of them, our son with autism, will always need a little more from us in a world that doesn’t always understand. My wife and I have built a life we never dreamed possible when we were young—multiple homes, investments, cars, and comfort. From the outside, it may look like we’ve reached the peak. But what many can’t see is that only someone walking the same tightrope can fully grasp the quiet, internal weight that comes with this season of life.
Because even as we manage daily logistics, shifting roles as parents, the emotional nuances of a marriage that has matured, and the ongoing demands of work and leadership, there’s a constant voice whispering inside: “What happens if we’re not here tomorrow?” And then another question follows, more haunting than the first: “Have we done enough to prepare them?”
We don’t talk about this kind of uncertainty at dinner parties. We don’t bring it up while watching soccer games or standing in line at school events. But we feel it. It keeps us up at night, wondering: What would happen to the kids? Who would take care of our son with special needs? Who knows where the documents are? Who understands the “why” behind the decisions we made? Do they even know what we believe in? What values did we try to live, not just speak about?
When our kids were small, we were the center of their universe. We made the rules. Set the tone. Held the boundaries. But now, as teenagers and young adults begin their orbits, we’re no longer the gravitational center. That’s natural. That’s good. And yet, in that distance, there’s space for something else to emerge: reflection. Vulnerability. A longing not just to survive another week, but to pause and consider the legacy we’re building intentionally or not.
This book was born from that space, from a moment of clarity inside the chaos.
Every January, the President delivers the State of the Union, a symbolic gesture of leadership, a clear-eyed review of where the country stands and where it’s headed. I began to wonder: Why don’t we do the same in our families? Why don’t we stop, once a year, to take stock of where we are, what we’re facing, and what we hope for in the next chapter? Not to be dramatic or formal, but to be deliberate. To replace guesswork with groundedness. To speak the truth before time runs out.
That question reminded me of something else from the business world, something I’ve been part of for decades. Every year, CEOs and company leaders present an annual report: a year-end update to their board of directors, shareholders, and employees. These aren’t just about numbers; they’re about vision, alignment, and accountability. It’s a moment when leadership steps back from the day-to-day to ask, “Where are we headed?” “What have we learned?” “What must we address to stay on course?” If we value this level of clarity in business, why wouldn’t we apply the same discipline at home with the people who matter most? That mindset, structured, intentional, and forward-looking, profoundly shaped the way I began to think about my role in the family.
So, I began writing our version, our State of the Family Union. Not for anyone else. Just for us. At first, it was messy. Informal. Nothing polished. I wrote about how proud I was of each of our kids. I acknowledged my wife for everything she carries that no one sees. I summarized what we’d been through that year and what we were focusing on next. And slowly, I saw it for what it was: not a summary, but a statement. Not a task, but a gift.
I was creating something our children could read now or decades from now and feel connected. Seen. Grounded. Because when you write from a place of honest reflection, you realize the most valuable thing you can pass on isn’t wealth or real estate. It’s clarity. Context. Emotional wisdom. Your voice, captured in words they can return to when life feels uncertain.
And for families like ours, with more complexity, more responsibility, and more moving parts, the stakes are even higher. Yes, we’ve created legal frameworks, including wills, trusts, insurance, and advisors. But that’s not the same as a message from Dad. It’s not the same as hearing, “I believe in you. And if I’m not here, here’s what I want you to know.”
We’ve started organizing the names and numbers of estate planners, caretakers, and key contacts, but that's not the whole story. They don’t explain who our child with autism feels safe with. They don’t outline how to handle a sensory meltdown or communicate without causing distress. That takes more than documents. It takes heart. That’s what this practice is really about: a human blueprint for continuity.
This isn’t just for families with financial complexity. The core idea behind a State of the Family Union is universal. Whether you rent or own, whether you’re building savings or managing assets, every family deserves the gift of preparedness. This is about communication, not net worth. It’s about pausing to organize, reflect, and articulate what matters so that your family isn’t left with confusion but with clarity.
As our children grow more independent, my wife and I have been quietly rediscovering one another. With fewer immediate demands, we’ve found more time to laugh, to reflect, and to savor the freedom that once felt so distant. And yet, there’s an awareness now that we’re not in our thirties anymore. We’re approaching the sunset side of life. And that realization brings a question: What kind of light do we want to leave behind?
Writing a State of the Family Union has become our shared ritual. It brings us back to the center. It affirms what we’ve built together. And it reminds us that legacy is not just something we leave to our children; it’s something we offer to one another through the choices we make and the clarity we share.
So, if you’re reading this, especially if you’re a father, I want you to know this isn’t another chore to add to your already full plate. You’re already carrying so much that most people never see. But this practice isn’t a burden; it’s a gift—to yourself, to your spouse, to your children, and to generations you may never meet.
You don’t have to be a writer. You don’t have to have the perfect words. You must care enough to speak. In a world of noise and distraction, your voice—honest, loving, and reflective—will cut through the fog like a lighthouse. Your children don’t need a flawless plan. They need to hear how you think, how you loved, what you believed, and what you hoped for them, even after you’re gone.
We live in a world full of information but starved for meaning. Our children are growing up in a culture of endless stimulation and a scarcity of wisdom. We spend years feeding them vegetables, getting them to practice, reminding them to study, but have we told them what we believe about courage? About marriage? About failure? About forgiveness? The State of the Family Union becomes the place to say those things. It becomes a record not just of the life you lived, but the heart you carried through it.
