And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make (The Beatles)
My dearest, darling, wonderful, amazing, awesome Josh and Ella
Hey there. I know, pretty hard-core sentimental for me, eh? Well, there’s a reason, and I’ll get to it in a moment, but first, I want you to be perfectly and utterly sure that you know you are the most precious people in the world to me. You are both, without exception, shining examples of what people should be. Well, OK, sometimes you do smelly farts. And occasionally you don’t reply to my texts within a milisecond of receiving them. And also, your mum could do with a hand with the dishwasher every now and then, and the hoovering doesn’t do itself. But, you know, in general, shining examples and all that.
I just wanted to make sure you know that, because I’m pretty sure I haven’t told you enough, and now I’m not going to get much of a chance to tell you again, because it’s got me, the fucking bastard, it’s caught me, and I think it’s going to have its way with me. I’ve escaped a few times before, but it’s never held on this tightly, and I’m so fucking tired, I haven’t got the strength to beat it off again.
I wish I did have the strength, because I don’t want to miss any of it, of you growing up, having your own families, making me a grandad. Oh I so wanted to be a grandad.
OK, stop it, Matt, this isn’t about wistful hankering, this is about … oh I don’t fucking know. Kids, I’ve barely got the energy to type this, but it feels important that I do. I’m hoping the spellchecker will kick in, because I can hardly see what the fuck these bloody useless fingers are doing to my words.
Right, focus. I guess I want to apologise for leaving you. I know it’s going to be hard. I’ve tried my best to make as much of it as easy as possible, but some things I just can’t have any control over, however much I want it.
I’ve used this, the Philpotts Letters, over the years, as a way of letting off steam, a way of ranting about things I was freaking out about, and a way of thinking through some of the challenges that being a dad has brought. But looking back at it, it’s almost like a verbal photo album, snapshots of your lives, entwined with mine, and I wanted to finish it properly, so it didn’t just stop with me going ‘bloody hell, you’re eighteen, how the fuck did that happen’.
I want you to know you are awesome.
I want you to know how much you are loved by me.
I want you to know how much you have enriched my life.
I want you to know how amazing your lives are going to be.
I want you to know how sad I am that I won’t be there to see it.
I want you to know so much that I can’t say, because I can’t put it into words.
God, kids, I love you so, so much. It is unbearable, the thought of leaving you behind, and I am terrified of it, so scared, but I’m so, so tired, I just can’t go on.
Please, guys, look after your mum, I know you will, you’ll look after each other. If there’s a way, I’ll be looking down on you, or more likely up at you (I’ll be checking you’re not wearing indecent underwear, Ella, so watch it), and keeping abreast of Scott family developments.
OK, that’s me done. I’m falling asleep, and these days I never really know how long I’m going to be asleep for, or what state I’ll be in when I wake up.
Thanks for everything.
I love you.