I'm leaving this behind, not for myself. I keep telling myself this, but it never seems to be true. I want to help, that much is true, but my desire to strive longer than my body does me in. I have rigged up a recording system of sorts. A self-writing quill. I'm going to be talking for awhile, and after I'm done, I'll instruct someone to copy it and send it to you. You're going to be getting this at a time in your life, where you just need some advice or something. Anything.

I'm not here to offer that. I'm just here to remove your pain. To make you feel proud of your father in his final moments, or at least give you a nugget of wisdom. It may not be what you're looking for, but it might just be what you need in the end. A one-sided conversation with the dead.

I'm...I'm warning you now, that I lose it at the end. The...infection came earlier than I thought it would. Although, I'm sure you can remember what happened soon after that. This is basically me writing something down posthumous, as linguists put it. Anyway, you'll already know, where I'll be when you read this, hopefully. I mean...I could've timed it wrong, but I don't know. I just hope you find something in my words, something within my meaning. I just...want to give you something. Something meaningful. Something important. Something powerful. It might not even be that for you. Anyway, when you're ready just open this envelope. My words are inside. I hope you can find solace.