Uncovering Budapest’s Secrets: What 100 Mondays Revealed to Joan Stack Kovach

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

They pack personal items, things they think they will need or don’t want to live without: the mom’s fuzzy pink robe and favorite paring knife, the dad’s hiking boots and poetry books. The boys ship their VHS videos, soccer cleats, lacrosse sticks, a Bob Marley poster, a Jamaican flag, an NSYNC poster, and a Sega Genesis console with games.

The family doesn’t realize there’s more in their baggage. What they carry over the miles includes the pain of losses— the eldest’s ability to work and earn some spending money, the middle son’s lacrosse team and friends and the sport he loved playing, and the youngest son’s tight group of friends. They carried with them the mom’s ridiculous but noble idea that if she is good enough, tries hard enough, she can keep her family connected and safe. And packed somewhere in the recesses of their belongings were the invisible consequences of the dad’s experience as a decorated Vietnam War combat veteran. All of this will prove to be a heavy load.