If I can’t be heard, do I exist? If I’m forgotten, did I ever exist?

I looked at my son today, and I knew that if there was even the slightest chance I wouldn’t be around too make him hate me just like Mary hates his dad, I would have to grab the horse by the cock and carry on stimulating bile and sputum about myself. What if I fade away like in Back To The Future; my hand gradually thinning too the point I could see my keyboard through it, and could no longer use my vanishing vocal chords to tell my kids to go away and come back later when daddy isn’t so busy pwning people on the internet. I had too come back. You can’t forget me. You’ll never forget me.