Unanswerable Mail

It came in a box with photographs, knick knacks and jewelry. Three pages of scrawled, almost illegible hand writing done by a dying man who knew his only son would read this final message and not be able to tell him 'I love you' or 'go to Hell' or 'fuck you'. A man who didn't care whether these pages sat tucked in the family Bible or got flushed down the loo.

Bobby;

I know the old cliché, if you're reading this I'm dead, applies here but sometimes a man's got to fall back on the clichés.

I'm not leaving you much, an annuity that you'll let sit if you're smart so you'll always have funds to fall back on, acondo in a city on the other side of the world from where you live and a box full of junk. I can't make up for the wasted years and I won't buy your affection post-mortem. The majority of the estate is going to charity. I know your step mother will be livid, but she's got her own money and I've kept her in the style she wanted. Maybe between the shopping trips to Hong Kong and the joint bank accounts she won't mind that I squirrel the most of my fees out of her grasp. I doubt it. Too flaming bad.

You never knew you grandfathers. One was a whiny knocker and the other a yobbo and they both drank themselves to death. When I saw your mother going down that same road I chose to save myself first. I didn't think I could save you as well. Guess that makes me as much of a yobbo as my Dad.

I figured if you made it to uni I'd step in then. You did, but you went to the seminary. I didn't want you a bloody priest. I wanted the name Chase to stand for something and it wasn't going to if my only son became a priest. So, I did my best to get you out of that damn place. And I did. And you became a doctor, which is what I wanted.

Why do I feel I was wrong?

I am not going to call the Chaplain, not make a last confession, not reach for my beads and cry into my prayer book. I will go to death the way I went through life, by myself. I will be strong and I hope that this is the legacy I can give you.

Be Strong

Dad

It was the second letter the made the man's son cry.

Dear Dr. Chase;

I have only known your father since he entered palliative care.

Rowan Chase was a man of extremely high standing in the world wide medical community. The advances he made to relieve the suffering of thousands both here and around the world are truly astounding. You should be very proud of him.

When he entered our facility, his wife came to us and asked that we simply sit by his bed. Your step mother was not at all what we imagined from your father's description. She was quiet, but capable and knew the best way to handle your father was to leave opportunities there but never attempt to force his hand at any time.

I had the pleasure of hearing your father's last confession and praying with him before he died. I do believe Rowan actually figured out that true strength comes from acknowledging your weaknesses and rising above them. In the end, he wanted you to know he died in a state of grace, even if it made him just 'another knocker.'

I send you his rosary beads. For a man who 'forgot how to pray' they are cracked and worn. Tucked in the pouch with them is a picture of you. You look more like a surfer than a doctor, but that's only one man's opinion.

I hope these things will help you remember your father in a more kindly light and help you in the coming days.

Yours in Christ

Father F.X. Brogan, O.F.M.

Fin

Australian Slang Translation

Knocker : somebody who criticises

Yobbo : an uncouth person

Uni : university