He gestured toward the studio.
“This place is yours now. Make music, sell the equipment, or do something else entirely. You don’t owe me forgiveness or gratitude. I just want you to have a choice.”
Frank and two of Dad’s former bandmates appeared behind him, joking that they needed a new guitarist and singer.
Dad smiled before turning back to the camera.
“These guys will help you if you want to pursue music. And if you don’t, they’ll respect that too.”
He paused, struggling to speak.
“I wish I’d been a better father. I wish we’d had more time. Most of all, I wish I’d told you how proud I am of you.”
A tear rolled down his cheek.
“I love you, son. I always have. Goodbye, buddy.”
The screen went black.
I sat there crying, grieving the father I’d lost and the relationship we’d never repaired.
Then I remembered his final instruction.
