Hudson,
I’m so sorry
that I’m so sad all of the time. I try my best to keep it from you, masking it
with silliness and conversations about truss rods and You Tube videos about how
to make your little plastic guitar sound better. Like we did last night. I’m
sorry that we had to wait in the cold for a bus home from your school
yesterday. We made the best of it eating a soft pretzel, and you furiously
embedded in ipod games, playing with your cold little hands, on a bench as all
the nice cars whizzed by. But really I was ashamed. I was ashamed that I didn’t
have enough money to pay my parking tickets and the city put a boot on my car,
right out in front of our apartment where you can see it and will ask about it.
I’m so sorry that I lied to you and told you it was being
fixed, I didn’t know what to do and had to think fast to figure out a way to
pick you up from school. I just wanted to be there at the normal time so you
wouldn’t worry. You seem so resilient, mostly happy in our small apartment for
which I am perpetually behind on the rent. In which there are no kitchen
cabinets, and the heat goes off every once in a while without you noticing. It
is very different from a 3500 square foot house, but there is more love here in
our little space. We make due, but barely. It makes Dad really tired all of the
time. Too tired to play with you sometimes. Too tired to figure out a way to
make the best of our free time without any money. My creative brain is
bombarded with stress every day. I know you see it. It makes me raise my voice
when I shouldn’t. It makes me distant and exhausted.
Hudson, I may have to get a roommate. I’m going to give up
my room and rent it out. I’m going to pull out the trundle bed which adjoins
yours, and sleep next to you in your room when you’re here with me, and sleep
there when you’re not. It’s the only way I can figure out how to lower my
expenses so you don’t have to choose between mac and cheese and turkey
sandwiches all of the time, so we don’t have to skip every other birthday you
are invited to. So I can buy something brand new for you and not wake up every
Saturday morning to go to garage sales. So I can take you on a vacation away
from this city. So I can be less sad for a while. There will be another person
here sometimes when you’re here. Sharing this small space, crowding your two
tiny play areas. Another situation for you to question. Another adjustment for
you to make on this 4 year hell of an unsteady roller coaster. I always wonder
when you are going to fall off, but you never do. It is I who rides hands free.
Dad loves you Hudson. Dad loves you more than anything else
in the world. Dad will make this easier for you, even if you don’t really see
it. Dad can’t see any other way right now. Dad has tried so many other ways…….
