The sound of family, bodies bustling around at 5:45 AM—cutlery clanging, bath running, noses sniffling, chair legs dragging;

Laughter, loud and high, triggered by the smallest, most mundane details that aren’t really that funny;

A rogue tooth, growing fast and big, ahead of everything else beside it;

His head on his shoulder, and his joy from from it;

“Always remember, we are your lifeline,” whispered and slid inside the envelope of a hug;

The size and weight and immediacy of homesickness, bigger, heavier than I’ve ever felt before, testament to how much we’ve all grown;

Him on my team, us as a team—moving through suitcases, cab rides, airports, airplanes—realizing we now have a rhythm, like dance partners, like water, flowing where I ebb, rising when he falls;

Following my nose & intuition instead of Google;

Coming home to a clean home, thanks to his housekeeping skills, miles better than mine;

A blur of fur jumping up on the bed, could’ve been a dream, as I was delirious from exhaustion and jet lag