In lieu of trust, please send martinis

This note was inevitable, as is my outcome.  Turns out your mother wasn’t just paranoid.  She never had proof, but she always knew.  Heed her warnings and cherish her guidance.  I suppose this note of resignation is the smoking gun she silently accused me of concealing all these years. 

You won’t find a family tree, but my branches will protect you, my little acorn.

You won’t find pictures of me in the albums, but I took your photos.

 Be patient with your mother.  You’ll always be her son, but for now you’re only a reminder while she spars with her grief.  Your instinct will be to show her this, especially once the investigations begin.  My poor boy it will be best for everyone you’ve ever loved to destroy this upon reaching the final word.  Perhaps consider it your first mission.  Your life will soon be spilling over with secrets and choices anyway.  Like father, like son.

You won’t find my name on any of the utilities, but I made all of your winters warm. 

You won’t find the company I work for and neither will Google, but you’ll know who those untraceable bearer bonds are from.

I hear your movements & murmurs downstairs one final time while authoring this before yielding to our future.  Yours a familiar presence, mine appropriately undetected.  Perhaps your soon to be percolating hormones will compel you to discover the upstairs window that opens without a sound and from both the inside and the outside.  Like father, like son. 

You won’t find my signature at Ellis Island like I told you, but they can’t get to you here now.

You won’t find me when you look up at the parents’ section from the soccer field, but I showed you the great Johan Cruyff and the importance of a strong left foot.

Some days you’ll lie about me to make yourself look cool to those desperate to be impressed.  Some days you’ll lie about me to make yourself look broken to appease your own pain. 

Some days you’ll tell a woman you miss me dearly. 

Some days you’ll tell another woman you never knew me. 

Someday you’ll stop lying to them and then to yourself. 

Someday you’ll trust me again. 

You won’t find a crime scene, nor will the authorities, but this letter will grant you closure.

You won’t find volunteers to be pall bearer, but you’ll have no body to carry.

You won’t find a will, but you remember my friend Hansi, right? She’ll be in touch.

Please understand I never intended such a fate for you.  Sired before being reluctantly hired.  But also understand the difference between us and the normal family you’ll no doubt fetishize is more than just barbecues and road trips.  That yearning you’re so sure of is nothing more than lingering questions nestling themselves into the bosom of your insecurities.  The ability to answer them means only that you’ve become older, not wiser.   

You won’t find an apology, but you will one day see why you aren’t owed one. 

You won’t find love, but you will have safety in its place. 

You won’t find your pound of flesh, but you have an absent father to blame for your mistakes. 

You will never find your father, but you’ll always have his eyes.  Like father, like son. 

Advice?  You won’t find any of that either.  But now you know what not to do.