Henry, I have been at the Law Office for a few hours, while you are sleeping. It’s quiet up here because it’s Saturday. I allowed myself 8 minutes to write this, post it without corrections, and return home. I hope I’ll be there when Lindy has just woken you up and is feeding you lunch.
Periodically, I have some hours to attempt to finish my thesis. It is always difficult now. I sometimes wish I’d had three weeks to live in my thesis, non-stop. This coming and going is brutal. I am working on sections, reworking sections that have become outdated because technology is constantly surpassing what we knew to be possible, and under absolutely delusions this degree means anything to anyone over here.
Yet, I continue plugging away at it. I think, more than anything, I still believe in it. I remember my first conversation with Mira. She was enthusiastic. They all have been, my advisors on this topic.
But, life has proven to be more important than my thesis. I was blissfully unaware of what was in store for me, for our Ayres family. We have had the most difficult year and a half of our family’s life. Truly. We are still trying to pull out of it, as a family. It is a daily, seemingly unending journey.
But, I gather I have less than one month of pure, forced (i.e. I am forcing you to be with me because you have no choice) time with you left. I already ache to feel how much I will miss you later in life when you want to be with anyone OTHER than me. For now, that is not the case. Your face lights up when I greet you in the morning.
But, soon, I will need to put you in daily care and go to work full-time. That destroys me, but I see how badly you need it. You need your intellectual curiosity to be fed by other children and educators. You need your mother to provide for you financially in addition to the copious love and care I give you. You deserve opportunities, and I will do my damnedest to help you get in doors.
So, my thesis, which is now 18 months overdue (NOT AT ALL – coincidentally, you are 18 months soon) will have to wait at least one more month.
You are the most important thing in my life. I will soak in every moment of the next few weeks. When you were born, during that nightmare, your uncle, for whom you are named said, “Do not be distracted when you take him home from the hospital. You get that moment one time. Be present.” Though my phone was buzzing from reporters who’d “somehow” been given my phone number, I followed his advice. I am keeping it in mind now, as well.
I love you. I love your precious snaggle tooth. I love how much you love your vacuum. I love your precious singing voice. I love your thick brown hair and your deep brown eyes that always remind me of L. I love your tantrums that remind me of my own frustrations when I couldn’t “get it” right away, be “it” an idea or a thing. I love everything about you.
What a wonderful month this will be for us.