You've heard me saying fuck cancer or fuck Alzheimer's but honestly, the real monster is depression.
It's a fucking, evil monster.
I am utterly heartbroken at the loss of my beloved Nick Rudd.
2020 hits again and this one really, really hurts. It was really hard to force myself out of bed this morning. I did, but it was damned hard. My hands are trembling as I try to type.
I don't suppose he knew how much he was loved. I think he knew I loved him but probably not how much.
I spent a lot of time behind the counter at Record Service with Nick. He and Ernie used to get the crossword puzzle out of the DI, make a copy in the office upstairs and then they'd have a race to the finish.
Look at those boys.
When we moved to Michigan he'd send us postcards made out of record flats, and mixtapes, and he stayed with us a couple of times when we lived in Chicago. There'd be long periods of time when we didn't see him but that bond was always there. I remember him smiling at a baby Leo in his stroller; recommending books when we ran into him at the library; giving Owen an amp.
I remember the time Owen saw him at a party and said, "Nick Rudd. That guy is legendary in our house." The boys automatically knew how much we loved him by the way we talked about him. He WAS legendary in our house.
Those beautiful eyes, that quick smile, and of course that voice that could go right through me in a song.
Ernie and I just laid in bed together crying this morning.