Page 61 of You & I, Rewritten

My heart pounds as I tear the letter from its envelope, running my thumb along each fold of the pages. I slowly bring the letter to my nose after opening them and inhale. I know it’s the grief and there’s no way this is not all in my head, but I swear I can smellhim. That same musky and tobacco-infused scent that once brought momentary comfort when I was younger now overwhelms my senses, causing the tears to fall even harder.

Dad.

I’ve never felt pain like this before. The immensity of this raw and all-consuming pain coupled with anger and confusion feels never-ending. For as much as I loathe the man, I have to know what his letter says. I need to know what his final words are…were.

I notice he dated the letter almost a week ago.

Dear Will,

I have been putting off this letter for years, hoping that someday we’d have this conversation face-to-face. Time is one of the most precious things in this world, but unfortunately, it appears that I’ve run out of it.

I have failed you in more ways than I can even begin to count and the fact that you are reading this letter means I have failed you a final time, and for that, my son…I am eternally sorry. It should come as no surprise to you that I am an alcoholic. I know you know this and have lived through the worst of it, but as part of my recovery, I need to feel the weight of those words pass my lips to all of those I’ve hurt. The decisions I made in life were mine and mine alone…I cannot blame alcohol for the actions of my damaged soul.

I’m sorry that I wasn’t strong enough to reach out to you when I still had time. Lord knows I wanted to, Will…with every fiber of who I am I wanted to, so badly. But I didn’t think I was deserving of even having a conversation with you. After everything I put you through…after everything I put your mother through. I know that in not doing so, I robbed you of the opportunity for some semblance of closure, if you even wanted or needed it. Saying “I’m sorry” just didn’t feel significant enough for what I put you through. But I am, Will. God, I am so sorry, and I will be for the rest of my days and for whatever hell awaits me. Because as broken as I am, you never deserved to be treated the way I treated you. You never deserved to be subjected to my demons.

My entire world revolved around being the perfect Marine. Outside of you, serving my country is the thing in my life that I am proudest of. It’s who I am…or was. But it’s taken me years to understand the toll that the war took on my mental health. Growing up, there wasn’t as much of an emphasis on mental toughness like there is today. You came in, did your job, and never complained about it, and then went about your business. Over the years, watching my friends, my military family die around me on deployment after deployment, the unimaginable things I witnessed all in service of this great nation…they all piled up, and I think I reached my mental breaking point. All the while trying to be some version of a good husband and father. Yet time and time again, I failed. I turned toward alcohol to numb the pain instead of turning toward your mother. I turned toward anger instead of turning toward compassion. And the thing that I will have to live with for the rest of my miserable life is that the anger I felt…that rage and that pain I tried so desperately to suppress, led me to lay my hands on you.

In the vilest and most unforgivable of ways.

In a way that replays over and over in my mind.

I am not asking for your forgiveness, because I know I will never and can never deserve it. You deserved a father you could be proud of…someone who you knew without a shadow of a doubt loved you and would protect you at all costs, and unfortunately, my horrific actions and behavior allowed you to grow up not knowing those things. That kills me, Will. Knowing that my weakness and my own shortcomings may have caused you to question your worth or if you were loved.

Because son, I have loved you since the very first moment you came into this world. You are my only child, my flesh and my blood, and the day that you were born changed my life forever. I may not have been there or in your life these last few years, but I’ve always kept up with how you’re doing through your mother or the internet, and I can’t tell you how proud I am of the wonderful man you grew up to be. Despite your upbringing and despite having me as a father, you have thrown yourself into the world unapologetically and have led a life filled with kindness, strength, and humility.

Something I have never known.

In your hands is something years in the making. What started off as random letters here and there or journal entries from my recovery has turned into this book. One that was never supposed to see the light of day—until I met Lana. I am in no position to ask anything of you, but please don’t be mad at her. All of this…all the deceit to get this into your hands in a roundabout way was my idea. From what she’s told me, the two of you have formed a genuine friendship. If you believe anything I ever say, please let it be that she is one of the good ones. She has her own story to tell, one that is woven with mine yet not mine to share…the irony of that comment is not lost on me, but please don’t turn your back on her. Not now.

I didn’t know if I would ever have the opportunity to share with you how I felt. I never knew if you’d be able to understand my dark pain and insurmountable regret, so I wrote it—at least some fictionalized version of it—in the hope that one day, when you were ready, and on your own terms, you’d be able to read it. Not to absolve me of what I’ve done or even to make sense of it, but to learn from it. To have something tangible that speaks to the depth of my love for you. Because these last few months have been the most agonizing and bittersweet months of my life. Having the opportunity to work with you, even though you were unknowingly doing so, was a dream. You pushed me to be more honest and open with my pain and guilt. You forced me to face those demons head on instead of burying them. And you made me realize that despite the worst version of me, you somehow grew up to be this incredible man who treats everyone with dignity and respect. Someone who honors their life experiences, no matter how painful, and shows them unwavering support.

There are no words to describe the pride I have in my heart knowing you became who you are, Will. Never lose that.

My time is coming to an end. I know that and am at peace with it—no matter what comes next. But I need you to know, Will…you will be my last thought as I leave this earth and the last name on my breath, because you, my beautiful and strong son, are the only good thing that has come from my life. I pray that one day, the immeasurable pain I’ve inflicted on your life subsides, and that as time goes on, you can look back on this book and know that you were and will forever be loved.

Remember…rise, heal, overcome.

No matter what, I will always love you.

I clutch my father’s words—the words I so desperately needed to hear—against my heart. Words that have left me hollowed out, emptied of all emotion and reason. The realization that my alcoholic father, my dead father, is secretly one of the most profound authors I’ve ever encountered feels like an unimaginable reality. A cruel and sick version of everything I thought I knew and believed in.

I reread his letter, over and over again, each time ripping open my heart even wider. The only thing I can do, the only thing keeping me from drowning in this moment, is to curl myself into this chair and let every ounce of pain and heartache, every repressed memory and emotional response to his words wash over me.

“Babe? What did it say?” Graham asks, his soft voice filled with concern as he pads back into the living room. I meet his gaze, seeing the love and empathy in his eyes and am filled with an overwhelming sense of appreciation.

For the man he is and the man he most certainly isn’t.

How could someone I love more than anything possibly make sense of all this? Because I sure as hell can’t. Where do I even begin?

I have no idea what comes next, but as Graham slides in next to me on this oversized armchair, wrapping me in his arms that I now call home and enveloping me in the most comforting scent in the world—him—I know that whatever it is, we’ll be okay.

All of us.

EPILOGUE

SIX MONTHS LATER

The scalding waterpours over me, loosening the stress that’s been threatening to eat me alive for days. Even though months have passed since my father’s death, there are moments where I find myself moving in slow motion, almost paralyzed by the what ifs, and nearly drowning in the immense guilt that refuses to subside.

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