Been a little quiet, brothers. Not because we don’t love y’all, but because we’re head-down getting orders out and taking care of you the best we can. We’ve been bobbing and weaving through this raws mess, and honestly I think we’ve held it together… but damn, we blew up at the most chaotic time. Blessing and a curse, and we’re still here swinging.
I didn’t plan to write this, but it’s been sitting on my chest all week. My dad’s in the hospital. The kind of room that hums even when everyone is quiet. Machines blink like little lighthouses and you pretend the beeps mean “he’s okay” because it’s easier than asking.
He’s always been the steady one. Not loud, not flashy, just there. The guy who fixed things without announcing it, who taught me that real strength is showing up even when no one’s clapping. When I started this whole thing, he didn’t give me a speech. He handed me a look that said, “If you’re going to do it, do it right.” That look is the reason I’m allergic to shortcuts and why we obsess over making things right for you guys.
Seeing him in that bed does something to your insides. Time slows down and speeds up at the same time. You notice tiny stuff, like how he still squeezes your hand twice, same as when you were a kid. How the nurses speak in soft code. How your own heartbeat is louder than you ever realized.
I step outside between visits and answer messages, pack orders, triple-check labels because that’s what he taught me. Handle your business. Care for your people. Keep your word. If I’m a little off, if replies are slower, if I’m not cracking as many jokes. it’s because part of me is sitting at his bedside, counting those blinks and hoping for one more good day.
But work doesn’t stop for nobody. Love you guys!