Dear Luki,

I am in New Orleans for a work conference this week and I’ve been missing you and your daddy like crazy. New Orleans is a fun, beautiful city, but everywhere I go, I think about how much fun we would have if the three of us were here together. Just today, I had a yummy strawberry popsicle while strolling through the French Quarter and imagined how delighted you’d be to enjoy such a snack.

Being away from you is hard, but I will be home soon to nibble on your feet and blow raspberries on your belly until you run out of breath from all the laughing. I only wish your grandpa could do the same.

When I was growing up, a couple of years after we moved to the United States, your grandpa spent a few months apart from grandma, uncle Ani, and I. We’d been living in Miami and my parents wanted to move to a safer city with more work and educational opportunities, so, while they figured out our next permanent destination, the three of us temporarily moved to upstate New York to be near one of my aunts who was pregnant at the time. Your grandpa continued to work in Miami until we decided to make Charlotte, NC our new home.

He visited often while we were in New York. We didn’t have a lot of money back then, so he’d either drive up all the way from Florida or take the Greyhound bus. Neither of those were pleasant experiences, to say the least. When he drove (in an old, not always reliable Hyundai), he’d make very few stops in order to maximize the amount of time he spent with us. He’d drink lots of coffee, park the car in rest areas to take quick naps and, if he was feeling really sleepy, stop at gas stations in order splash water on his face. He often made the 1200+ mile drive in 24 hours.

The bus was less tiring but it took longer. Plus, it was always full of eccentric characters with unpleasant habits and smells. Whenever he traveled on the bus, we’d spend hours laughing at all the stories of the people he’d met along the way. Like the guy who made the unwise decision to eat a giant bowl of beans on the trip. A decision that not only affected him, but everyone else around him.

What I remember most about that time is the excitement I used to feel those few minutes before he arrived, as I looked out the window of our apartment and waited for his car to turn down its street. Grandma, uncle Ani and I would run downstairs to greet him with hugs and kisses and huge smiles on all our faces.

It hurts to think that I won’t ever greet him again.

But today, as I sit in my hotel room in New Orleans, I have a better appreciation for all the sacrifices he made, for all the hours he spent on the road trying to get to us. And I understand that, no matter where in the world we were, when the four of us were together, we were home. And home is worth doing anything for.

I can’t wait to be home again, my son.

Love,

Mom