I did it. And it would be a lie to say I didn't wish you could have seen me, that your smile had greeted me, but it's alright because you were there, because I was there, and I am nothing if not an ever growing sum of your parts.
I play on the instruments you passed down. Every time I sit and lay hands, I hear the same notes that grew from your touch. When I was a child, I watched you, I heard you, and before I knew that your love would become my love, I was in awe of you. And now I cannot form a chord without feeling your hand guide mine, and hearing your patient voice conducting my stuttering melodies.
They have not gathered dust, your toys. They have become mine, and they are no longer playthings as I once saw them. I understand why now, and how. How they saw you through. They are keys that I can work, but they are also keys that can work me, and they have opened parts of me that few other things are able to. From them, from you, I have found something to spend a life on.

It was a dream but I felt your arms.

I am your boy.

And I hope I make you proud.