Dear Luki,

In a couple of days, we’ll be heading down to Atlanta to attend your uncle Ani’s college graduation. He will officially become an Aerospace Engineer and we couldn’t be more excited and proud.

And yet…as it tends to happen in the wake of every important event since that horrible day in November, your grandpa’s absence is more palpable than usual. We can’t believe that he won’t be there to cheer with us as we see Ani walk across the stage, or that he won’t raise his glass at dinner, when we toast to your uncle’s success.

I read a poem the other day that said,

Grief might be easy
if there wasn’t still
such beauty — would be far
simpler if the silver

maple didn’t thrust
it’s leaves into flame,
trusting that spring
will find it again.

Your grandpa’s death would be much more bearable if there weren’t any more graduations. Or weddings. Or birthdays. If the numbers on the calendar skipped over the holidays and summer never came.

Your grandpa’s death would be more bearable, but our lives would be stale and empty.

Before your uncle Ani was born, your grandma was convinced that she was pregnant with a girl. It’s what she wanted. And, since he always adhered to her wishes, your grandpa pretended he wanted another daughter as well. But she assures me that she’d never seen him as happy as when the doctor proclaimed, “it’s a boy!”

A son. To balance out the estrogen in the household. To play baseball and soccer with. To mold into a good man.

Whenever I get really sad about you growing up without your grandpa, I find comfort in your uncle Ani. He will never take your grandfather’s place, but he reminds me of him so much! And it’s not just physically — even though he looks a lot like him (receding hairline and all). It’s the patience and the humbleness. The selflessness, the willingness, the strength. It’s the smile and the constant good spirits, and the ease with which he can solve any dilemma.

And I know I learned a lot from your grandpa, and I am a better person because he was part of my life…but it’s not the same. Maybe it’s because they are both men, because the father and daughter bond is not made of the same material as the one between a father and his boy. Maybe that’s why sometimes I can literally see your grandpa in him.

I am convinced that, on Saturday, when your uncle Ani walks across the stage to accept his diploma, he will take your grandpa’s essence up there with him; he will bring it to dinner when we celebrate his accomplishments; and, despite the enormous vacuum left by death, we will all find great joy in that moment.

Someday, I hope to catch a glimpse of that same essence in you, my boy.

Love,

Mom