Publisher's Note
Miscellaneous Ramblings from MODE's Main Misfit

I cried last night. Thinking about you.

I was watching the stupidest of movies, American Pie, during which there was a scene where the father is trying to have a "facts of life" talk with his teenaged son, who clearly already knows it all, and is feeling very uncomfortable. It was hard to watch, the intention obviously. It was awkward, humorous, and made you think. It made me think that you never had that talk with me. It made me think that there were a lot of things we never got a chance to do. Then I started getting all choked up.

You never got to meet Gloria. If I had only met her a few months earlier, you would have known them most wonderful person ever to come into my life. You never got to hear about how quickly we fell in love, or how I tell everyone I knew I was going to marry her by the end of the second date. You never got to meet Gloria’s family, it takes a few hours to get through them all, but it’s worth it. And then there’s Quinn. He’s the most precious thing in the world, and (as every parent will say), he’s opened my eyes and given me perspective. Now I understand why you put up with all my crap for all those years. I love him more than life itself, and I’d gladly give mine for his.

I can’t believe I’m writing this letter to you. If everyone reading could just feel how much I miss you. I can hear the words already, "Why the heck did you print something like that in your paper Scot? Why!?" This may sound corny, but I know there’s a father and son out there, somewhere, that doesn’t have much time left together. I couldn’t believe how fast you left us. There was so much I wanted to say to you, and just never did. I can’t imagine all the people who have a fight with their parent only to lose them in some terrible accident before making up. I don’t think I could bear that type of pain.

So, it’s a few days before Christmas, and I just got off the phone with Ma. I was feeling down, I’m tired, and it hits hardest when I’ve got too much time to think. I know I’m not alone when I say that the holidays sometimes get me down. I can’t explain it, and I have no real justification, but once in a while, I just want to withdraw. I sat here for a long time, thinking, pondering, wondering if anything could have changed the way things are. I guess I take far too many things for granted. I don’t think I ever really believed you would die. Some part of me always knew that you would be there, that you would simply get better, and that everything would be fine again. But I was wrong.

You know I put Shanty to sleep last year. Just before Quinn was born. She spent 18 years being the most faithful listener in the family, and it was the hardest thing I ever had to do. She couldn’t walk anymore. She had accidents in her bed at night and whimpered in the morning because she knew she did wrong, but just couldn’t control it anymore. Putting her down was the best thing for her, and I know she understood. But why does it have to hurt so bad? And never go away?

Do you watch over us? Is that you when I turn left instead of right? Do I see your smile in Quinn’s face? I have so many questions I want you to answer.

I guess the purpose of putting this letter in print is to share my emptiness with those people more fortunate than me. I wanted to share it with those that don’t know how great they "still" have it. I was lucky enough to grow up with a dad, and can’t imagine what it would have been like without you. But I was shocked and felt cheated that you died before we could really become friends. It was like a bad dream because instead of going quickly, like in an accident, or from a heart attack, I basically watched you wither away, not knowing if my words got through, or even if they meant anything. I’ve never forgiven myself for leaving the day before you died. Never.

So, here’s my emotional plea: If there’s a father out there mad at his son, or a son, pissed at his dad. Make up. It’s just not worth it. Take it from all of us that can’t even have a fight anymore. Working it out is always better than staying mad. And, to be as morbid as possible for this holiday season, you never know when tragedy will strike, and do you want to carry unrequited anger around with you for the rest of your life?

I’ve made my New Year’s resolution Pop, and it’s a simple one. I plan to be the nephew to your brother, he never really had. I just hope it isn’t too late. Surprised?

I love you and miss you dearly, and truly hope you’re proud of what I’m doing.

Your son, the trouble-maker.