Jack’s Journal
By:
Kenda
*Jack’s Journal is a follow-up story
to the aired episode, May The Road Rise Up.
March 28, 1954
In
my wildest dreams, I could never have imagined that this is how the end would
come for me.
My
beginnings were humble. I was one of
seven children, the middle child. I
came to adulthood at the start of World War Two. Like most young men my age, I answered the call of duty, joining
the Army the day after Pearl Harbor was bombed in 1941.
My
childhood was happy, my family a close one.
There was never a lot of money.
I realize now how Dad must have struggled to feed and clothe all of us,
especially during the Depression. The
first six of us were born within nine years of one another, making things even
harder on Mom and Dad financially speaking.
By the time Ray came along, things were a bit better. Ironically enough, they could have afforded
to send him to college, though he chose not to even finish high school. While I, on the other hand, would have loved
the opportunity for higher education. I
never even mentioned it to Mom and Dad.
They could never have afforded it, so what would have been the point in
making them feel bad?
I
look back now and wonder how I ended up volunteering to be a member of the
O.S.S. division, now known as the C.I.A., during my years in the armed
forces. I guess even as a child I was
an adventurer. I was forever seeking a
level of excitement most people would turn and run from, much to the dismay of
my parents. I see this same spirit in
my Rick, and quite frankly, it scares the hell out of me. Even young Andy, only four years old, seems
to have a yearning for adventures.
Please, boys, don't let those adventures lead you into danger. Your mother will need you both in the years
to come.
My
desire for living on the edge, and my old friend Matt Haskell, led me to the
job I took after the war, head of security at Nemesis. Once again I found myself working for the
government. It was a good job. It satisfied my ever-present need for a
challenge, much to the upset of Cecilia at those times when my work became
all-consuming.
The
job enabled me to support my wife and sons well beyond any means I could have
ever dreamed possible. I have peace
knowing that Cece and the boys will be well provided for thanks to my years of
hard work and dedicated service. Matt
has shown me the paperwork from the government regarding the benefits Cecilia
will receive. My body may be crippled,
but my mind's still intact. I made sure
my wife and sons will benefit for my heartache and suffering, and for my
absence from their lives. I have seen
to it that Cece will never have to work outside the home, that the mortgage on
our house will be paid off, and that there will be trust funds set up for my
sons' college educations. Cecilia will
surely wonder why she's party to such a large sum of money, especially money
I've never discussed with her before.
But Matt has assured me he will handle it with her in such a way so as
not to arouse her suspicions.
I'm
growing weary so will lay my pen down for today. What a sad state for a man who once exercised vigorously each
morning at six a.m., worked a ten hour day, then went home to play with two
active boys. How I miss my life that
once was.
April 3, 1954
My beautiful Cecilia. As each day
becomes more of a struggle I find my thoughts focusing on you.
Without
realizing it, I must have seen past those saddle shoes, bobby socks, and that
engaging smile, so many years ago, and been privy to the strength inside the
soul of that tiny girl I was smitten with.
I
know there will be days in the coming years, Cecilia, when you'll have to
search deeply to find that strength. I
know it's there, sweetheart. You can do
it. I have the utmost confidence in
you. And I promise you that I will always
be there with you, obviously not in body, but my soul will always be one with
yours. Never forget that. Carry me in your heart as I will carry you
forever in mine.
I
know you, Cece. And I know right now
your biggest concern is whether or not you can be both mother and father to our
sons. You can. You're a wonderful mother. I pray that someday our boys realize how
fortunate they are, all because they have you in their lives. They couldn't be
in better hands. You will help them
grow to become men I would be proud of.
I
want you to be happy again, Cecilia. If
a man comes along who captures your heart, please don't prevent yourself from
acting upon your feelings by carrying a torch for me. My legacy will continue in our Richard and Andrew. That is sufficient. All I ask is that the new man in your life
loves and cares for our boys as if they were his own.
I know that if you do remarry someday, it
will not be an easy transition for any of you.
Especially Rick. It will not be
easy for Rick to call another man Dad, nor to give his love to a new
father. Be patient with him, Cece. Rick needs the love and warmth only his
familiar family circle can provide, far more than he will ever be able to admit
to.
Andy's
so young yet. It will be easier for him to accept a new daddy. Please don't let him forget me, Cece. I hope the new man in your life takes as
much pleasure from the unabashed love our A.J. will shower on him as I always
have. Our little one has an innocence,
and goodness about him, that I pray is never completely lost. This ugly world needs more people like
him. If there is another man in your
life someday, make sure he's good to my Andy.
I
know the well being of our sons will always be your first priority. This thought brings me great comfort.
If
the circumstances surrounding my death should ever come to light, I hope you'll
understand why I couldn't bear to share the end with you. I know you, my little spitfire, you'll be
angry. Oh, will you be angry! But when the anger dissipates, please recall
the man I was. A man filled with too much pride, I know. It's that awful pride that won't allow me to
share this ugly and bitter end with the woman I love.
I
love you, Cecilia. You are my wife, the
mother of my precious sons, my entire life.
I have never, nor could I ever, love another woman as much as I have
loved you. I love you, my darling
Cece.
May 10, 1954
Ray,
how often I find myself thinking of you in recent days. I look back and marvel at the closeness that
we've shared. A closeness that years,
nor miles, could diminish.
I
was twelve years old when you were born, and to this day cannot explain the
bond that formed between us. The same
bond my own sons share.
Maybe
our closeness had to do with the fact that I was a boy sandwiched between an
older sister and two younger sisters.
Will and George, as the two eldest, were only thirteen months apart and
the best of friends. That often left me
playing with our sisters, or playing by myself. I was thrilled when there came to be a new little brother in the
house.
You were born on Mom and Dad's bed in the big house on Second Street
near the end of the Great Depression. I
remember being in the living room and hearing your first cry, then Dad rushing
down the stairs to announce to us kids with a big grin, "It's a
boy!" After years of being plagued
by Joan, Marion, and Patty, I was only too happy to hear I'd have some
reinforcements in the form of a new male family member.
Do
you remember when you were five, sitting on the old wooden bleachers at the
high school watching me play baseball?
You went everywhere with me that I'd allow. When I shipped out for Europe you were nine. You told me to "kill a buncha' Jerrys,"
then in the next breath hugged my waist and begged me not to go. You'll never know how special you made me
feel that day. I cried as I stood at
the ship's railing waving goodbye to you and the rest of the family.
By
the time I came home five years later, you were an uncle to my young Rick. I watched as my two-year-old son followed
you around Mom and Dad's house the same way you used to follow me. Even then, you were already talking about
traveling the globe. At seventeen you
dropped out of high school and did just that.
You have yet to return home for good.
I
know you are far from ready to settle down and accept the responsibility of a
family, Ray. But if I can ask anything
of you, brother, it's to request that you please be there for my boys when you
can. You already know that Rick
worships the ground you walk on. Andy's
little yet, and because of your travels doesn't really know you, but if you
spend some time with him I know he'll grow to love you as much as Rick
does.
I
won't be here anymore, Ray, to bail you out every time you need a couple of
bucks. I have a feeling Cecilia will be
a lot tighter with the household wallet than I ever was where you're concerned. So take my advice and plan ahead before
you’re down to your last dime.
Take
care of yourself, Raymond. Take care of
my boys. Thank you for being my
brother.
June 6, 1954
As
my days on this earth grow shorter, and the pain more intense, I think of you,
my sons, on an hourly basis. I wonder
what you're doing, and worry as to the future you both face in growing up
without your dad.
My
heart aches from missing you both. When
the pain gets so bad it prevents me from reading, or from writing in this
journal, I imagine that you're here with me.
It brings me solace.
I
hear the click of your cowboy boots, Rick, on the tile floor, and hear your
infectious giggles, Andy. Sometimes I
imagine that you are both here playing at the foot of my bed. The bed I no longer have the strength to
leave. I see you on the floor, toy
soldiers divided up between you, engaged in battle. Or you're bent over a big piece of paper, color crayons and
markers in hand, working together to create a masterpiece for your mother. Don't ever lose that willingness to work
together, boys. Carry that gift with
you for the rest of your lives. A
brother who is also a friend, is a precious commodity not given to all.
Forgive
me for the things of yours that I had taken from the house. During the first lonely nights I needed a
part of each of you with me.
I
hold your swim medal, Rick, remembering how pleased you were when you won
it. I was so proud of you. I am
so proud of you. I hope that even when
you're a grown man, you'll recall the hours we spent swimming together so you could
win that medal at camp. I hold the
medal in my hand now, son, wishing it could magically take us both back to a
time when we were together.
I
know how much you must be missing your teddy bear, Andy. There had not been a night you hadn't slept without
Farley since I brought him home for you two years ago from Washington D.C. I suppose Mom and Rick have torn the house
apart looking for him. I hope you can
understand what comfort Farley brings me now, as he lies here next to me. It's almost like having you cuddled up
against my side, as you were so fond of doing on Sunday mornings when you'd
crawl into bed with me while Mom made breakfast. I can smell your scent on him, my little one, and it makes me cry. How I miss you and Rick.
The
picture of the two of you I had Matt bring from my office sits on the fireplace
mantle right next to a picture of your mother.
I spend hours at a time now, gazing upon the faces of the three most
important people in my life. How I love
that picture of my boys! My
six-year-old Rick is smiling for the camera, with his arms tightly wrapped
around the waist of his laughing one-year-old brother. If this is the last thing I see before I
die, I will go to the Lord a happy man.
There
may come a day, my sons, a day many, many years from now, when you discover the
truth as to how I came to leave you.
Forgive me for not saying one final goodbye. I hope that, as grown men, you can understand my decision not to
include you and your mother in on my lingering death. I can't bear to allow any of you to see me this way. I'm now completely bedridden, and have no
control over my bodily functions. My
face and hands are badly scarred from the radiation poisoning. This is not how I want you to remember
me. I couldn't bear for my sons to see
me like this, to be afraid of their dad who now looks like a monster from a bad
science fiction film.
I
love you, my precious sons, more than I love life itself. As my life comes to an end, yours will go
forward. I wouldn't have wanted it any
other way. It is a fitting tribute to
all I've stood for.
The
only thing I will ask of either of you, is to grow up to be good and decent
men. Help those who are less fortunate
than yourselves. Take care of your
mother. Take care of each other. Please, stay close. Keep my little family intact.
I
love you, boys. Oh, how I love
you.
May 14, 1987
My dearest Jack,
I can think of
no better way to heal the pain the past week has brought our sons and me, than
by filling the remaining blank pages in your journal with thoughts from us.
I
feel as though I've lived a hundred years in these past seven days. I've been up and down an emotional roller
coaster. My first thoughts when the
boys brought me the news of having seen your Buick, was that they were playing
some type of a sick joke on me. That
was unfair of me, I know. Neither one
of them would ever do such a thing. I
was just so shocked. Then I thought
they had to be mistaken. But as time
passed, evidence proved that theory to be wrong as well. Even so, I never dreamt it possible that the
grave they had opened, without my permission, would be empty. From that point on I didn't know what to
think. I was hurt, angry, scared,
confused, - a bundle of reeling emotions.
Every possibility ran through my mind, ranging from a love affair, to
you being forced to disappear because of the nature of your job. None of those thoughts made things any
easier. They only made them worse. Our poor sons took the brunt of my confusion
and anger.
Then
out of the blue last Friday, Matt called.
Goodness, I hadn't seen or talked to him in at least twenty years. I knew then, that something was up. When he told me that it was urgent that I
come out to his estate, I rushed there, butterflies beating their wings in my
stomach. I tried not to allow myself to
hope that you were going to be there waiting for me, and would somehow explain
this entire mess in way that would make sense.
In a way that would allow me to forgive you for thirty-three lonely
years. In a way that would allow me to
welcome you back into my life as my husband, and allow our sons to welcome you
back into their lives as their father.
But
that was not to be. Rick and A.J. were already
there, having bypassed Matt's security system to obtain entrance into his
house. How like their father! According to Matt, they were mad as hell and
demanding answers, threatening to tear his home apart to look for you if that's
what it took. They are each, in their
own way, a chip off the old block, Jack.
The
words were hard for Matt to come by, but slowly and surely the true story of
your death was revealed at long last to your family. I can't say I was particularly surprised at the details. It was something you would do, sacrificing
yourself and your future for the safety of others. I was more hurt than anything.
Hurt over the fact that you wouldn't allow me to share in your last
months. At first I couldn't understand
why. Why you had chosen to die a slow,
painful death alone, without the support of the wife who loved you, and the
sons who adored you. I still don't
fully understand, but at least through the entries in your journal, I am able
to comprehend somewhat, what a complex individual you really were. So like our Rick.
It's
A.J. that worries me now, Jack. This
entire incident has been difficult for him.
It wasn't lost on me that he hesitated a few moments before joining Rick
and me on the walk to your cottage. He
was just a little boy when you left us.
I believe he had his hopes up in regards to finding you alive. Maybe he even feels a sense of failure that
he didn't. If I know our A.J., he is
unjustly blaming himself for the fact that all the detective skills he possesses
still didn't enable him to find you alive.
But maybe the healing has begun for A.J. with your journal as well. Tears ran down A.J.'s face as Rick read your
words of him. I think it helped him to
realize that, though you only had four short years with him, you loved him very
much, and already had great insight into the man he was to become.
How
have I survived all these years, you may wonder? It hasn't been easy sometimes, Jack Simon, let me tell you. There has been many a time when I've rushed
a sick or injured son to the emergency room, and cussed you out silently
because you weren't there with me as you should have been. Many a time during the conflicts their teen
years brought I wished for your strong male presence as I had to lay down the
law to Rick about school work, or the unsavory company he was keeping, or argue
with A.J. over curfew, or the fact that he was, at seventeen, becoming too
serious with his girlfriend, Anita. I
smiled the smile of a tried and true parent as I read your words of confidence
regarding my ability to be both mother and father to our sons. It wasn't always easy, but I did the best I
could. And I've got two grown sons I'm
extremely proud of that prove that point for me.
The
only thing that can still make me cry to this day in regards to your passing,
Jack, is the fact that you didn't get the opportunity to see our boys grow
up. You would be so proud of them! Yes, Rick still has his own cadence, his own
inner rhythm that most of us can't find the beat to, and yes, his common sense
is still often lacking. Yet he's a good
man, Jack. He reminds me so much of
you. Tough as nails on the outside, but
gentle and caring on the inside. He is
protective of me, he has been since the day you left of us. He has tried so hard to take your place in
my life throughout the years, as well as take your place in A.J.'s life. As you wrote, Rick's familiar family circle
is much more important to him than he ever lets on.
Willing
to hurt if it will spare another pain. What
a wonderful and accurate thought in regards to our Andrew. A more compassionate man I have yet to
meet. Everything A.J. does he gives his
all to, whether it's his work, or his personal life. When the day comes that he finds the right woman and marries, I
have no doubt he'll make an outstanding father. His children will be lucky to call him Dad, just as I know how
very lucky I am to call him son, and Rick knows how lucky he is to call him
brother.
Our
boys have remained close, just as your journal entries indicate you had hoped
they would. That's my gift to you,
Jack. That somehow, through it all, I
managed to raise two sons who, to this day, are still one another's best
friend.
I
will end this here, darling. It is my
desire that, in time, both Rick and A.J. can find it in themselves to say
goodbye to you in this journal, too.
Then this book will be complete, and the thoughts of my family will rest
beside me each night on my bedside table.
I will no longer have to go to bed lonely.
Until
we meet again, dear Jack, I love you.
You always have been, and always will be, in my heart. May the good Lord hold us both in his
hand.
All
My Love,
Cecilia
May 27, 1987
Dad,
I
will attempt, as best I can, to put something meaningful to both of us on this
page. I'm no better at writing my
thoughts on paper now, than I was as a kid.
I'm sure you recall the countless hours you spent standing over me whenever
I had a writing assignment for school.
"It's easy, Rick," you used to say. "Just translate your feelings and thoughts into
words." Well, it never was easy
for me. I don't seem to have inherited the
knack for writing you had. I hope
you'll forgive me if this is less than perfect.
Geez,
where to begin? I guess I'll start with
the day A.J. spotted your old '51 Buick.
At first I thought he was nuts, making me chase an old car like that,
but when we got out of my truck, and I saw that dent in the bumper, I knew without
a doubt I was looking at something that couldn't possibly exist. After all, that car had been reduced to a
melted scrap of metal thirty-three years earlier. Yet that dent was all the proof I needed to know that something
was very, very wrong. I remember the
day you brought that car home brand new.
Like Mom said, you flew out of the house when you heard me hit that
bumper with the hammer. I remember
getting three good whacks on my rear end, which I'll readily admit I deserved.
Digging
into the circumstances surrounding your death was not a pleasant experience for
either A.J. or me. A.J. had been too
young when you died to remember much about the details, so dealing with things
like old coroners' reports - even if they had been falsified - and old police
reports, again, for the most part false, wasn't easy for him. Though he didn't let on that fact to me, I
know A.J. well enough to read his emotions like a favorite old book.
Most of the details I knew were simply what
a nosey nine-year-old was able to overhear as he sat on the stairway late at
night when there were visiting relatives in the house. Mom explained things to me when we got word
of the accident, of course, but naturally she protected me as much as she could
from some of the more gruesome details, and only told me what she thought I was
capable of handling and understanding.
As the years passed, you would have thought I would have asked her more
questions, but for some reason I never did.
I think A.J. probably did, as he grew older and realized that he was
somewhat of an enigma among his friends - a young boy whose father was
deceased. But even so, I'm sure Mom
related only the facts to him of that night, and steered clear of revealing the
emotional devastation your death, or disappearance, or whatever you want to
call it, caused her.
As
we dug farther into the case, I seesawed between two theories. One, that you had been made to disappear by
the government because of the nature of your work, whatever that might have
been. Or two, that whatever had
occurred, you were long since dead and we should just let you rest in
peace. I finally settled on that last
theory, which upset my brother to no end.
We haven't engaged in an honest to goodness fistfight in many long years
now, but we sure came awful close a few weeks back. A.J. didn’t like the fact that I was more than ready to drop the
investigation, and didn't hesitate to tell me so quite loudly. I firmly believe that from the moment we viewed
that empty coffin, A.J. thought we'd find you alive. That seemed to convince him that you were out there somewhere,
and he was going to search to the ends of the earth until he found you. I wish for his sake that's how it could have
turned out, but as we all know now, it wasn't to be.
I
hope you can forgive me for wanting to give up the search. It's just that after my time in 'Nam, I've
seen a side of the government most others never do. I figured that even if you weren't dead, there was no way the
C.I.A., or F.B.I., or whomever, was ever gonna allow us to find you. If they knew we were getting close, I
figured they'd just move you. But, try
tellin' A.J. that. You can't get
anything through his thick skull when he has his mind set on something. As you said, a brother who is also a friend
is a precious commodity, but sometimes he's also a commodity who is a stubborn
pain-in-the-butt.
Your
journal entries have helped me see things more clearly about the stormy
relationship you and I sometimes shared.
I never doubted that you loved me, but I guess until I read your journal,
I never realized the depth of that love.
I never knew that for you looking at me was like, ‘looking into a
perfect mirror,’ nor would I have ever imagined that you had concerns for my
future simply because I might grow up to be like you. "God save you from a life like mine, Rick," you
said. I hope you can understand that
I've been proud when friends and relatives have compared me to you. I don't think there was anything wrong with
the life you led, Dad. I, probably much
more so than A.J. or Mom, can understand why you weren't able to share your
last months on this earth with your family.
I understand pride. Pride that
sometimes rules out good old-fashioned common sense. Which I still don't possess a hell of a lot of, by the way.
Matt
told us that when you took your last breath you were holding my swim medal in
one hand, and A.J.'s teddy bear in the other.
Now that that medal is back in my possession, I've held it many a night
in the past few weeks in an attempt to feel what you felt. In an attempt to somehow be close to
you. Though for so long I thought the
medal had been lost, I didn't need it to remember the summers we spent swimming
together, Dad. I want you to know I've
never forgotten those summers, or the camping trips, the bike rides, or the
baseball games.
The
picture of A.J. and me you spent so many hours gazing upon now hangs in our
office. A client did a caricature
drawing of A.J., me, and the Condor - I'm sure you remember quite well my
infatuation with that comic book super hero - that hangs on the wall of our
office. The sketch artist down at the
police station did a similar type drawing a few years ago of A.J., me and a
police lieutenant friend of ours, that hangs on our office wall, as well. So that picture of us as children has been
added to our collection. I suppose some
people will wonder if we've suddenly become sentimental in our old age, what
with displaying an old picture like that, but it has a special meaning to both
of us, so to hell with what anyone thinks or says about it.
I
think you'd be proud of the man I've grown to become. I guess I'm good and decent - at least most of the time...well
okay, some of the time. A.J. and I have
helped a lot of people in our line of work.
There have been times when we've taken on jobs for free if someone was
really in need of help, but couldn't afford to pay us. And there have been times when payment has
come in the form of all the groceries we can bag in ten minutes at Skip's Super
Market Emporium, or a year's worth of free meals at Luigi's. Suffice to say, A.J. isn't too crazy about
Italian food anymore. But I think we
both learned by the example you set for us, when it comes to offering
assistance to those who are less fortunate than we are.
Our
little family is important to me, too, Dad.
I had to remove myself from it for a number of years in order to find
out just how much it meant to me. In
the subsequent years I've worked hard at keeping your little family
intact. We all have. It's my gift to you, Dad. Your legacy lives on within your wife and
sons.
I
hope I've done right by you.
Love,
Your son,
Rick
June 20, 1987
Dear Dad,
Rick
passed this journal on to me almost a month ago now. I put it in my desk drawer here at the office, and haven't looked
at it since. It would probably still be
hidden away in that drawer if Mom hadn't asked me the other day if I was
finished with it yet. When I told her
no, and that I hadn't even started writing in it, she gave me a gentle smile of
understanding, and told me that if it was just too difficult for me right now,
I didn't need to feel obligated to put an entry in it. I assured her that there wasn't anything
difficult about it, but rather that I had simply been busy. Of course, she knew I was lying, just like
she's always known whenever I've lied to her about something. But this time she let it pass without saying
anything further. I promised her then,
that I'd get to it as soon as I could so the journal could be returned to her.
Rick
took a day of vacation today to go fishing with some friends of his. So, with him gone, and no pressing business
to speak of right at the moment, I decided it was well past time that I join my
family members in putting an entry in this little book.
For
the longest time this afternoon I just sat staring at its cover, then rereading
the words you wrote of us so long ago now.
It's funny, but I just realized how long thirty-three years really is. If we had found you alive, you wouldn't have
even recognized Rick or me, nor we you.
There's so much of our lives you've missed out on, Dad. So much I wish you could have been a part
of.
As
I read your journal entries over and over, I've become so aware of your concern
for the well being of the family you were leaving behind. You made sure Mom was well taken care of
financially so she would be able to devote her time and energy to raising Rick
and me, while not having the worries and stress a job outside the home would
have brought her. You also looked ahead
to the day when your sons would go off to college, and made sure there would be
money available for that expenditure.
Though Rick chose not to go on to school, I did. In part, I believe, because somehow, for as
young as I was when you died, I knew that a college education for your sons was
important to you. If I think back I
suppose Mom mentioned that to me more than once during my growing up years, and
I recall when I was in high school Uncle Will telling me how disappointed you
had been that you had never had the opportunity to go. He told me then how much you had hoped that
someday Rick and I would make college a choice for ourselves. Those thoughts came through quite clearly in
your journal. It made me all the more
glad that I went to college, graduated with honors, and even passed the bar
exam, though I've chosen not to practice law.
Over
the course of the last month, I've tried to reconcile within myself the anger
I've felt toward you at times for not sharing the last months of your life with
your family. Rick seems to understand
perfectly, but I don't. You know that
Mom would have willingly cared for you, and neither Rick nor I would have ever
thought of you as a monster, no matter what you looked like at the end. I just wish you would have allowed us those
final months to be together, to prepare together as a family, for your
death. I would have liked one last day to
snuggle up against you while Mom made breakfast. Yes, for as young as I was, I remember those mornings well. They were our special time. A time that didn't include Mom or Rick. God, I missed those times for so long after
you died. I remember going to Mom's
bedroom on Sunday mornings right after you left us, and standing in the doorway
staring at the empty bed. Sometimes I'd
climb up on it and wrap my small body around your pillow, and pretend it was
you. How ironic that while you were
finding comfort with my teddy bear, I was finding comfort with your
pillow. Even long after Mom washed all
the pillow cases, I could still detect the faint smell of Old Spice.
At
other times, the anger I feel toward the decision you made to exclude us from
your death melts away into nothing but devastating sadness. Your journal entries cry out your longing
for your family, and the pain it caused you to leave us. It's a special gift to find out after all
these years how much each of us meant to you.
Not that we didn't know, I suppose, but to read it, to have the concrete
evidence of your love and sacrifice left behind, is truly a treasure I never
expected to receive in this lifetime.
Farley
sits on my dresser at home now, right next to a pair of cuff links of yours Mom
gave me years ago, as well as your O.S.S. tie clip. I suppose some of the ladies I date will find it strange that a
teddy bear has taken up residence in my bedroom recently, but when I explain
why, I'm sure they'll find my sensitivity appealing. Women of the 80's want their men strong and masculine, yet
sensitive. Don’t try to figure it
out. I still haven’t.
It
makes me glad to know that so many of the things you hoped for have come to
pass. Rick and I have remained close
throughout all these many years, though I'll freely admit that at times I've
been tempted to put him up for adoption and live the rest of my existence as an
only child. We've always taken care of
Mom, and always will. That's a
given. Though Mom hardly needs much
taken care of. She's still a
spitfire. Even though Rick and I were
so young when you died, I believe your passing instilled in both of us the
importance of a close family. As Mom
has always said, even when the three of us aren't together, we're in each
other’s thoughts. Each other’s
well-being is our first priority.
I've
never forgotten you, Dad. I never
will. Thank you for this special gift
of your journal. I love you.
Andy
