I write to you from seventeen years past your drop dead date. Turns out you will not replicate Dad’s fate. You will not strand three sons, you will live on and on and you will need to live life with the assumption of living. Your loss gives you the terrible wonderful chance to salvage the fatherhood that you missed as a boy. Recall the shame of a dad not there, the struggle of a mother to replace the impossible to replace. All this can build a strength you have, a scar of wisdom beyond your years more and more as the years pass. Not to death dwell, but those fears and worries that Mom has — turns out she’s right. I wish she weren’t.
Thousands of forks in the road will lead you to where I am now. Whatever else you do, be sure to ask out that cute girl from the La Raza party you met first week of classes.