I owe Ms. Rachel child support.

“Up and down and up and down and up and down and up and doooooooowwwwwwn!”

Duh do duh do duh do duh do do do do…

This heater from Ms. Rachel lives rent-free in my head. It’s also the perfect soundtrack for the last six months—a relentless rollercoaster. The highs, the crashes, the long, rattling climbs followed by gut-wrenching drops. It’s never more apparent than when I look at Hudson and wonder what his little brain must be trying to make of all this.

Hannah and I talk often about what it means for Hudson to be the big brother to a medically complex child. Will he embrace the role? Resent it? Will he grow up thinking this is just how life goes—always watching, always waiting for the next emergency? I pray that the love he has for Archie only deepens, even as life keeps throwing curveballs.

Hudson is one of a kind. A mix of clever wit and sheer stubbornness, with a laugh that catches you off guard and a charm that feels far too mature for a two-and-a-half-year-old. But for all the personality he packs, we have to remind ourselves—he’s still just a toddler. Still figuring out how the world works.

When Archie had his first seizures and we were thrown into hospital life, Hudson stayed with family for nearly two weeks. When we returned, he was noticeably upset. It was as if he had to process, in his own way, that we’d disappeared on him. A few days later, his spark started to return—but something had shifted. He had grown up just a little too quickly.

I won’t pretend to understand what it’s like to be a kid whose parents disappear without warning—not because they want to, but because they have no choice. Or to have a brother who, no matter how much you love him, pulls more of your parents’ attention. Or to live with the unspoken truth that one bad night could change everything. But this is Hudson’s reality now. His earliest memories will be of Mom, Dad, Archie… and AHC.

I try not to dwell on Archie’s future. We’ve accepted that it’s—uncertain—to put it mildly. Hannah and I, along with so many others, are fighting to change that future. But the unknown still lingers like a shadow.

What I do dwell on—what keeps me up at night—is Hudson. One day, he’s going to ask me about Archie. About what’s ahead. What will I say? Will he understand? Will he be angry? Will that be another moment where he’s forced to grow up too fast?

For now, Hudson adores his little brother. He lights up when Archie sits and plays next to him. Hannah and I laugh when Archie boldly snatches a pacifier out of Hudson’s mouth—the same one Hudson just stole from Archie moments before. Those are the moments we cling to. They’re simple. They’re pure. And I hope they stay etched in all of our memories.

But the rollercoaster never stops. The episodes return. Hudson throws a tantrum while we rush to tend to Archie. If we’re lucky, an hour later, things are calm again.

Up… and down… and up and down…

Thanks, Ms. Rachel.