My beautiful son.
On this, your eighteenth birthday, I can’t help but think
about possibilities. I know a father is supposed to be grounded and realistic
and down to earth and all those other euphemisms for boring, but I still can’t
help but imagine your life.
The family business calls, but then your uncle said no to
that and beat his own path in the world.
Might the girl next door be the one for you, or is your soul
mate halfway around the world as I type this?
So many possibilities. I wish you were alive to fulfil them…
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