Together, or not at all.

Regret

After years and years of intensive researching and studying we came to the conclusion that wolves themselves seem to not really know either

Dear dad,

This is the difficult bit. If I’m right, you’re reading this letter a week after we left in the TARDIS. Now, the thing is: we’re not coming back.

We’re alive and well. And.. stuck. In New York, fifty years before I was born – and can’t come home again. I won’t ever see you again, and that breaks my heart. I’m so sorry, dad.

I thought about this for years and I realized there was one thing I could do. I could write to you. Tell you about how we lived. How, despite it all, we were happy.

But before I do I need you to know, you are the best dad any son could’ve had. And, for all the times I drove you mad, and you drove me mad; all the times I snapped at you. I’m sorry.

I miss everything about you, and especially our awkward hugs. I bought a trowel! We have a small yard, I garden. But one more important bit of business. The man who delivered the letter, Anthony. Be nice to him. Because he’s your grandson.

We finally adopted in 1946. Anthony Brian Williams. He can tell you everything, he’ll have the family albums. And I realize that having a grandson who’s older than you is so far beyond weird. Pa, I’m sorry.

I love you dad.

I miss you.