I'm writing this for you.
I'm writing this for me.
You'll notice that you came first in the lineup.
That has always been true.
Well, mostly.
I'm not writing a defense nor justifying my presence...
...but I don't know, maybe in some ways I am trying to do just that.
Still, that's not the driving factor.
I write because I want to say some things while there is still time to say them.
I want the things that can only come from me to have come from me while there still is a me for them to come from.
I don't want untold stories tossing me into my grave, nor do I want others to put their best spin on what they think I meant with my life.
This isn't the first time I've made an attempt.
Several imaginary copies lie crumpled on the floor of my mind.
They span years and years.
I need to talk about these things with you, truthfully and respectfully.
There have been a lot of half truths along our way, sometimes no truth at all.
I don't know what you know.
I don't know what you think.
I don't know what you've been told by any of the usual suspects.
Here's what I DO know.
I do not want to hurt you, make you mad or dig up something painful just for the drama of unearthing the past.
I do not want to push you away. At all.
In fact, it's rather the opposite, I want to pull you in closer.
I want you to know how very loved you are.
I want you to know your part in the stories; in my story, in our family's story.
I want you to know that you are important.
Your stories are important.
Without you, the other stories fail to be written.
When we are sharing space and spending time together, I want you to feel at ease.
I want you to feel loved by the family surrounding you.
I want you to know how much you belong right in our midst.
For a long time, I've felt I had to be careful with you- careful not to get too attached, careful not to lay any claims on you.
I've tried to be careful not to place undue pressures on you nor cause waves in your life when I could help it.
Mostly I've tried to remain neutral.
But I now believe, at times, that has been a mistake.
I still want to respect every single person who calls you loved.
This isn't about casting blame or finally staking a claim.
It's more like finally voicing what's been true all along.
No matter what happens, no matter where we find ourselves in the world, you are an inextricable part of my life, my story.
Staircases and Labels be damned.
I love you as a son and a friend.
I want the best for you always.
I pray for your future and I believe
- have always believed-
that you are full of pure Grade A Potential-ity.
The truth is, we are never-probably-ever going to bring this up over pizza or tacos.
When you're around, we just want you to linger a little longer, spend more time with you.
No one wants to kill that joy by digging up bones.
Certainly not me.
But then I look across the guacamole at you, and wonder again for the millionth time if you feel loved.
Really, really loved?
I tend to suspect that you don't.
And I wonder again for the millionth and one time if there's something more
I can say or do to help you understand how very much you are.
Forgive the mumbling and bumbling that will surely follow... I'm swinging from the heart.
And now, without further adieu, let the band play on...