Good evening, son,
It’s 9:20 PM and I’m in your room, in our house in Barrinha.
It feels strange to be here without you and your mom.
I arrived tonight to bring a first batch of our things and get organized.
The house is quiet. There’s no noise from city traffic.
Yesterday on the road I saw some beautiful landscapes. I had forgotten how beautiful it was outside…
Your mom has already organized a lot of things here from a distance. The house hasn’t stayed lifeless.
In a week you should be here, with your mom, and the house will officially come back to life.
There’s still a bit of work left. Quite a bit of cleaning, organizing, putting things back in place.
Nothing impossible, but I look around me and try to imagine how everything will be when you’re here. Your bed, your toys, your little noises in the house.
It’s strange because I don’t feel totally at home. I’m a bit lost.
Tomorrow you’ll be 11 months old.
And for the first time since you left the hospital, I won’t be there when you wake up in the morning. It feels really strange to me.
I only left a few hours ago but I miss you already.
I’ve gotten used to seeing you every day.
Your little hug before bed.
And then seeing you in the morning when you open your eyes.
Now I’m in the house, and I’m all alone.
And it makes me realize how much your presence fills everything.
But at the same time I feel like we might be achieving something important.
We’re going to try to stay here for 30 days. A test.
To see if your body adapts well to the house, to the air here, to the rhythm here.
It’s a lot of work for a test, it’s true.
But if it works, I think our life will be better.
I think your mom will be more at peace here.
I think you might breathe better.
And I think the three of us can finally live a bit more normally.
I’ll admit I’m a bit scared. The house is a bit damp. It’s the rainy season here.
And with you I’ve learned that nothing is ever completely certain.
I also try to remember everything we’ve already been through.
And when I think about that, I tell myself we’re capable of a lot.
By leaving the city, there are also fewer viruses, fewer people, less pollution.
Maybe your little body will have a bit more peace here.
I would so love for this to be the right place for you.
I love you, my little potato.
Happy month-iversary (probably the first one without your dad if I can’t make it back by tonight)
Dad
