Grab a tissue, and close your office door. This one’s going to take a moment to recover from.
“James: This is a difficult but necessary letter to write. I hope your telephone call was not to receive my blessing for the degrading of your lifestyle. I have fond memories of our times together, but that is all in the past. Don’t expect any further conversations With me. No communications at all. I will not come to visit, nor do I want you in my house. You’ve made your choice though Wrong it may be. God did not intend for this unnatural lifestyle. If you choose not to attend my funeral, my friends and family will understand. Have a good birthday and good life. No present exchanges will be accepted. Goodbye, Dad.”
For far too many of us, this letter will read awfully familiar. Not to steal anyone’s terrible thunder, but I tend to get Christmas letters every couple of years not written to me, but rather about me, from my birth mother reminding everyone she knows in the world that I am going to hell.