Justin,

If you’re reading this, we both know the reason is because I’ve died.

I’ve done a lot of thinking over the years. Despite my initial reticence to even listen to your reasons for choosing your lifestyle, I want you to know that I’ve learned to accept it.

Molly tells me all the time what a great time she has with you in New York. She even speaks nicely of Brian. I must say I’m surprised you’re still with him. I should have known from the moment you left our house to live with him that you loved him.

I remember a time when I’d have done the same and more for your mother. I used to love Jen immensely. But something happened over the time and our happy marriage started falling apart. It was never your fault – that’s what I want you to know. Sometimes, people fall out of love.

I could tell we were becoming distant, and instead of talking about our problems, I went out to the country club. I met Jessica, and ruined my marriage. At the time, I blamed you for all our problems, but it was never your fault, Justin.

In the beginning, I used to yell even at Molly when she mentioned your name. She had no idea what was going on or why we weren’t all living under the same roof anymore. She cried about you and me going back home to be a happy family like before, so many times I’ve lost count.

Your mother hasn’t talked to me for years after our divorce, unless we were discussing Molly. She asked me out for coffee during one of Molly’s trips to New York. Jen came with her new boyfriend, but when they noticed I haven’t brought Jessica, he made himself scarce, coming up with some silly excuse.

He’s a nice guy. I hear you give him a hard time. He makes your mother happy, and that should be all that matters.

Jen and I caught up, and we discussed you for the first time without one of us ending up screaming or storming out of the room. I had never been prouder of you when I’d learned you’ve become a success. I wonder if your dream to open your own gallery actually came true. Jen told me that you’re a long way from accomplishing that.

Jen also told me that you got married. She showed me pictures. You were very handsome, son. Brian is one lucky man.

I regret not meeting him properly. I’d have loved to shake his hand for making you happy and being so wonderful to you.

I doubt either of you would have accepted my invitation to meet for lunch when you were in town. You have all the reasons in the world to hate me, Justin. Both of you. Thinking back on how juvenile I acted, how I almost badly injured your boyfriend… I apologize. I realize those words can’t erase the pain and fear and anger I made you feel over the years, but I hope you understand.

My upbringing and my social circle taught me homosexuality was a sin and that all faggots were abnormalities.

The truth is that your sister made me see where I was wrong. I had to hear a child’s innocent and pure words about the times she spent with you and Brian to realize what an asshole I was. The more she told me about you, the more I hated myself for the way I’ve treated you.

Jessica is a witness of how many times I’ve written you lengthily emails only to delete them before hitting the send button, or the times I sat in my armchair with my phone in hand, pondering whether to call you or not. The few times the urge to talk to you overwhelmed me were on your birthdays, after I heard you got married, and when I learned I was sick.

I wonder if Molly or Jen told you I am sick. Did you even care when you heard the news?

I deserve all your hatred with the way I’ve treated you.

Hoping, you’re still reading this letter and you haven’t balled it up and threw it away when you read my name on the folded paper, I want to tell you some of the memories that stuck to me.

You might not recall this since you were two years old at the time, but this is one memory of you I’m very fond of. We had over some friends. You were supposed to be asleep, so we were catching up and socializing in the living room. There were booze and fine cigars at discretion. We were having fun, and then Mrs. Chanders is gesturing wildly, pointing to a small figure by the wet bar.

Your mother had a meltdown over you trying to drink from the vodka bottle. I rescued you in time before we had to send you to Baby Anonymous Alcoholics, and we all had a good laugh over it. You were put out for hours, and you kept trying to get to the vodka.

I wonder if vodka is one of your favorite drinks now. . .

Another interesting memory is the day we brought Molly home. You were with Daphne in your room, and we called you to meet your little sister and welcome her home, you scowled and locked yourself in your room. You sneaked out to visit her during that night. I caught you staring at her in the dark. You told me that you don’t like her.

We thought it was a phase, but you kept disliking her, until Jen made the foolish mistake to allow you to keep an eye on Molly.

Molly was about eight months old.

It was dear Daphne who rushed to Jen to let her know you had left the house with your sister in the stroller. You planned on taking her to the market and sell her. I remember being sent to the doghouse after laughing at your ingenious idea when Jen was downright livid.

Despite the fact that sports weren’t your thing, I took you golfing a few times, and we had a good time. At least, that’s how it felt.

When I first found out you were gay, I tried to find someone to blame. Logically, I blamed Jen for coddling you and encouraging your love for painting.

I don’t know if Jen told you, but my first reaction to your accident on prom was inexcusable. I said, “Good. It’s what faggots deserve.” I regretted the words the moment they left my mouth. Your mother slapped me and forbid me to go anywhere near you or her.

After several days, the guilt and worry for your well-being got the best of me. I visited you late at night. Your doctor updated me with your healing. I made him swear not to tell your mother I’ve been there. The doctor told me I could go in to see you if I wanted, no matter if you were in a coma.

Imagine my shock when I found you already had a visitor at that late hour. He was leaning against your door, looking at you through the small window.

When he heard me, he turned to look at me, and in that moment I knew that he loved you. It was written all over his face how much he cared for you and how hurt he’d been in the aftermath of your bashing. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days and his haunted eyes showed everything he felt for you.

I was sure Brian wouldn’t allow me to see you, that he’d tell me to leave, but he stepped aside and disappeared around a corner.

I stayed by your side for thirty minutes. I wasn’t ready to accept my son was gay. I was too proud to leave behind my conception of gay people.

As you know, I haven’t changed my opinion until after you left the city. You’ve tried several more times to reach out to me. You used your art to show me that your stack of drawings from home wasn’t a phase.

Now thinking back, it was foolish of me to say that you were no longer gay if things with Brian had fallen apart. By the way, did I mention I am happy you made up? The last pictures Molly showed of you two were beautiful. You’re living the life you deserved, by your man’s side.

Our last encounter couldn’t have been more unfortunate. To this day, I have no idea what possessed me to call the cops at my company and have you arrested. What kind of shitty father gets his own son arrested for voicing his right to be able to love freely? Apparently me.

I know I’ve hurt you a great deal, son, but there’s a little hope inside me that you’ll forgive me. Or, at least try to understand where my hatred came from.

I hope you won’t resent your mother or sister for keeping my illness from you. This was my last wish.

I know that if they’d told you, you’d be on the first plane back, sitting by my bedside and acting like you cared for the sake of old times. Even if you still care for me one tiny bit, that was not the way I wanted us to be together one last time.

You’ll have time to express yourself freely at the funeral. I don’t expect any nice words from your eulogy, Justin.

If you’ve read through my letter and reached this part, then let me tell you one last thing: I love you, kiddo.

Your dad