This year, going home for the holidays meant loading up more than just luggage.
My wife had the excellent idea to rent a big Suburban for the trip, and it turned out to be one of the quiet heroes of the journey. We drove from New Orleans to North Carolina in a kind of floating comfort that felt very different from our soft-top Wrangler. The ride was smooth, spacious, and forgiving. The dog noticed immediately—stretching out, settling in, clearly happier with the bigger, steadier car. Sometimes small upgrades make a long road feel kinder.
The real reason for the trip, though, was family. We went to see my grandfather, now 94, and spending time with him felt both grounding and heavy in the way only time can make things. We talked, sat around his house, and I took a few photos with the Cyber-shot—trying to capture the feeling of the place as much as the image of it. At one point he told me, gently and plainly, that this might be the last time I see him. That his time feels short.
There’s no good way to prepare for a sentence like that. You just carry it with you, quietly, for the rest of the visit.
Still, the days were full in the best way. We walked the dogs through the woods with my brother, my wife, and my son—cold air, crunching leaves, that particular calm that only comes from being outside together. My kid built a Lego set and a gingerbread house, fully absorbed, fully present, reminding me how naturally joy shows up when you give it space.
We made time for everyone. Dinner out for Mexican food with my wife’s family. A visit with her friend in Raleigh. Conversations that felt normal and easy, the kind that anchor you back into shared history.
Before we left, my grandfather gave me a fishing pole. It’s a simple thing, but it meant a lot. A gesture that felt like continuity—something passed forward, something I’ll use and think of him while doing it.
On the way back, we gave ourselves a little buffer. We stopped in Pigeon Forge for a couple of days, then made sure to have an extra day at home before jumping back into work. That pause mattered more than I expected. It let the trip settle instead of ending abruptly.
Overall, it was a good trip. Comfortable, emotional, ordinary, and meaningful all at once. The kind of holiday that doesn’t need to be perfect to be worth remembering—just honest, and shared with the people who matter most.
