sturtle [dot] com

I’m not the kind of guy who gets hysterical. Not usually. I try to keep it together, to see the big picture, to maintain a modicum of control. So what I have to say here may strike some of you as a little unusual, but I need to get it out. And I need to write it down because I’d turn into a big ball of sobs if I spoke the words aloud–of course, that’s if I could even manage to track down some of the people to whom I’m speaking. Bear with me.

I’m sorry, Jonno. I’m sorry I dragged you away from your life in New York, lured you down to New Orleans and refused to let you go. I’m sorry I didn’t take your complaints more seriously, sorry I didn’t really look into other cities, other jobs. I’m sorry for the slow, deliberate accumulation of our lives–the house, the things, the pets, the friends, that gradually made it impossible to leave. I’m sorry we didn’t take more with us that night, sorry to rush you, sorry that we’re homeless for the next whoknowshowmany weeks.

I’m sorry, Lola. I’m sorry I wasn’t more receptive to you when we first met, but I’ve never been much of a cat person. I’m sorry we hauled you down from New York, threw you into a house with dogs and things that weren’t yours. But most of all, I’m sorry we left you behind. I’m sorry we didn’t think longer-term, sorry we didn’t consider the possibility that it might be a very long time before we could come back for you. I’m sorry that you’re uncomfortable now and that you probably won’t survive until we return.

I’m sorry, Drew and Don. I’m sorry we’re taking up space in your brand new home–a home you bought together and that you should be enjoying, alone. I’m sorry we brought dogs and things and our messy, chaotic lifestyle. I’m sorry I don’t know when we’ll be leaving. I’m sorry that we’re occupying so much of your attention when you have dozens of other friends and family to worry about.

I’m sorry, friends in New Orleans. I’m sorry I encouraged some of you to move to the city. To those who were already there, I’m sorry I begged you to stay. I’m sorry I didn’t encourage you to pursue your dreams, ply your talents in other cities. I’m sorry we all find ourselves missing our hometown, reliving fond memories, and quietly lamenting the fact that things have changed, irrevocably.

I’m sorry, family. I’m sorry to make you worry. To my adopted family, I’m sorry I couldn’t explain to you how much I love New Orleans, why I love it. I’m sorry I had to go there to build a life–a life that you tolerated, but didn’t really understand. To Callie and Tiff, I’m sorry I drew you back to a city that you once loved but had kind of left behind.

I’m sorry, all of you. I’m sorry that you’ve spent so much time and energy worried about us, writing an endless stream of emails and phone calls and text messages full of help and love and everything else you could offer. I’m sorry I’ve sung the praises of the city, sorry to invite you down, sorry that your memories of the city are just as painful as mine, now.