Dear Luki,

I started writing you these letters because I wanted you to become intimately familiar with your grandpa; I didn’t want him to just be a picture hanging on the wall and a few casual anecdotes. Little did I know that, throughout this process, I would become intimately familiar with him too.

When someone is around all the time, you don’t really stop to analyze his character. To appreciate all of his qualities. You take him for granted and become exasperated with his flaws. You kiss him hello and goodbye out of habit. You only make him feel special on the pertinent holidays and birthdays. And you don’t see the inspiration his life can bring to your own.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the letter I wrote to you last week. About your grandpa’s work ethic. His devotion to always doing things right. And I’ve been thinking about myself. I often try to get away with the minimum effort. I give up on projects when they pose the smallest challenge. I rarely take on new initiatives in my life.

And as I wrote that letter to you last week, I felt like a hypocrite. How can I ask you to try your best if I am too lazy to get up when my alarm goes off in the morning? Too complacent to expand my horizons? Too scared to aim for a better version of me?

After your grandpa died, I felt jolted. Like I was taken by the shoulders and shaken until things were clear and in focus. But that feeling was waned. Things are cloudy again. Blurred by a desire to sleep in, wander aimlessly, do nothing.

But these letters? They give me a little nudge. And I am finding the inspiration I never accepted when your grandpa was here to give it in person.

Because I know that all the letters I write to you about him won’t come close to impacting you the way my example will.

And I don’t want to just tell you what kind of man should be, I want to show you.

I promise to try harder.

Love,

Mom