Note on week-old corpse

Dear Father,

I owe you an explaination for this. Perhaps I owe it to others too, but especially to you.

I wish things could have been different. I wish things didn’t have to end this way. I wish we could have had a better relationship. I wish I could have been a better son. I wish I could have been less of a dissapointment. I wish I could have lived up to your expectations. I wish a lot of things, that’s always been my problem.

You reminded me so often that I live in a fantasy world. Not even a well thought out one, just a flimsy escape from my dull life. From my responsibilities. From my limitations. Rather than trying to combat them and make myself the best I could be with the limitations I had I created myself this fiction that I could live instead. This snow-globe I could exist in with my feelings tucked under me like an insecure child tucks it’s legs and arms up into a ball hiding in a closet. You would find me there. You would break the snowglobe. You would pull me out of the closet I chose to hide in when I’d convinced myself I could take no more. You would make me face that which I thought I couldn’t stand. You would force me to face the horror when you could. To strengthen me. To make me stronger. To make me realise that I could take more when I thought I couldn’t. I realise that now. I realise you didn’t mean to be cruel. It was all for my own good.

When you tore up my dreams. When you tore down my designs. When you smashed my fantasies with your sobering reason. When you slapped me to make me wake up and face the real world. You did it out of love.

I thank you. I thank you for the lesson in reality. I thank you for the lesson in hate. I thank you for teaching me that moreoften than not things don’t work out. I thank you for showing me people can be weak, misguided, irrational and flawed. that the things many people hold up as sacred are often fallacy. I thank you for trying to teach me about failure. About how it’s important to just live. And how happiness is often an illusion.

You tried. It’s important to try isn’t it? I thought so, but you taught me that was wrong. Trying is only an option if you think you can succeed. and if you can’t succeed then you shouldn’t try. You did. And you failed. Why did you try? Were you one of the misguided ones? Were you one of the ones with your head in the cloud? Perhaps you did it out of love? Yes. Obviously. and through love you taught me hate. you taught me to be respectful of things other do for me. To be appreciative. I appreciate what you’ve tried to do, but in the end I just hate you for it and wish that you had never tried.

Do you wish you’d never tried? If you knew how it all would have turned out? Would you have spent the time more profitably? Would you have abandoned me? If you had done we’d both have lived better lives. I’d be misguided and living in my own illusions but I’d be happy. I don’t think the lessons you taught me have improved my life. I think it’s possible for people to live in a fantasy world and live a full and rewarding life. Now i will only have dissapointment and bitterness. all because of what you did.

And your life? Think of all the things you could have done with your life if you hadn’t wasted the time on me. If you’d left me in my snow-globe. Living in my fantasy. Perhaps your life would have been more rewarding if you’d redirected all that wasted effort? Now we shall never know. Two lives ruined because of your misplaced belief in failure.

Now it ends. Didn’t you realise it would end like this? In death? I’ve known for quite some time and prepared for it. It seemed a logical consequence to me. Part of the stark sober reality of life that you had tried so hard to teach me. Perhaps I learnt something from the lesson that had eluded you? Perhaps in the end it was just your inadaquacy as a teacher that caused the problems? Perhaps that was the ultimate failure? I think so. In the end you failed, because you had convinced yourself that failure was the only option.

I owed you this explaination, but you would never understand it. You would never accept it. Perhaps it will go somewhere towards explaining what I felt I had to do. Perhaps it will go someway towards explaining that this was the only means of escape I had. To explain to others if not you. Perhaps somehow I will be able to now live out that fantasy life that you always denied me.

I’d like to believe that.


Your son.

Something to say?