(Continued)

confused, still somewhat in shock. I can remember all the tubes and medical paraphernalia to this very day, scary things to see connected to one's most dearest of things. The not-knowing, that was the worst of it all. And I could only wait.

But you somehow managed to pull through all that. God, how I was happy. I smile now, thinking back on it all the letters you received from the kids at Oak School No. 3, and the merit badges your cub pack awarded for every ten you could count. Gee, that string of badges ran almost down to your waistline by the time you were through. Don't ever remember having seen anybody else with so many. You were my boy, I was your dad, and somehow we were still together.

I was proud.

Proud that I loved my son so much, proud that I dedicated everything that he might have the chance I didn't. Proud that so many others loved you as much, felt your and my pain, reached out with open arms to extend whatever help they could. Proud to be a person, one of a community joining together in pursuit of a good. Proud to be a father.

Your father.

Yes, you've put me through a great deal, you know. You little rascal. But I guess that's normal and of course it's okay. And in these, my last waking moments on the face of the earth, as I now look toward my version of eternity, there's but one more thing I wish to pass on.

Your turn will come. And when it does, just as I did, you'll more than know just what to do.

Well, this pen's running dry and I've time but for a few more words. Probably the last for a while, though somehow I think not forever. There will come a time when we'll meet again, a time hopefully far in the future, where we'll be able to share stories once more. And maybe even a laugh or two. Or simply just a long hug.

So with little more left than a few tears in my eyes I now say good bye to you. No matter where I go from here, no matter what faces me on the other side of the curtain, there's one thing I know I can be sure of...