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Last Chance: Help my 10-year old meet her Babcia!

Quentin Bailey Start Date: Jan 13, 2026 - End Date: May 12, 2026
  • Warsaw, Poland

My Travel Story

by: Quentin Bailey Start Date: Jan 13, 2026 - End Date: May 12, 2026
My heart is shattering as I type these words. My wife of 22 years—the most selfless, honest, and resilient woman I’ve ever known—is facing the unimaginable: her 91-year-old mother in Warsaw, Poland, is dying. Her health is failing rapidly, and every passing day steals a little more time. In Polish culture, family bonds run deep; elders like babcia (grandmother) are revered, cared for at home by loved ones, and shown profound respect through simple, tender gestures—kissing her hand in greeting, holding her close, sharing stories, and filling the home with warmth. We must get my wife and our two daughters to her side now, before these irreplaceable moments are lost forever. The cost? Around $6,000 for round-trip flights from the U.S. to Warsaw and renewing our daughters’ passports. After years of unrelenting hardship, we simply don’t have it. Our youngest daughter is 10 years old. She has never met her babcia in person. Not once. All she knows are stories, photos, video calls where her grandmother’s voice trembles with love across the ocean, and the Polish lullabies babcia once sang to her big sister. In Polish tradition, grandparents—especially babcia—play an enormous role in grandchildren’s lives, spoiling them with time, attention, homemade treats, and the passing down of family wisdom, recipes, and values. Our oldest met Babcia as a baby when she visited the U.S. for six months after the birth—cradling her, singing those lullabies, creating the only in-person memories we have. But for our little one? Nothing. No first hug. No stories told cheek-to-cheek. No chance to feel that special babcia love up close. And now, time is running out. My wife came to America in 2005 on a visa to build our life together. With her Master’s in American Literature and Culture from Warsaw University, she started from the bottom—as a geriatric caretaker (pouring tenderness into others, the same tenderness Polish families reserve for their elders), then cashier, later teaching at Tri-C and Cleveland State University. Today she teaches ESL in our public schools, often juggling two full-time jobs just to keep us from drowning. She’s never complained. Never given up. She’s been our unbreakable rock. But the past ten years have been merciless. I fought cancer, endured multiple foot surgeries, suffered a minor stroke and heart attack. Then identity theft struck—stealing our savings, our security, our peace. For nearly three years we’ve battled the IRS, DHS, and the system. Just recently the IRS accepted my fraud claim—a glimmer of hope—but we’re still waiting on documents to rebuild. I’m cancer-free now, slowly regaining strength, yet jobs vanish the moment background checks hit the fraud flags. Before all this, I worked grueling 12-hour manufacturing shifts, nearly seven days a week, to provide. My wife carried us through every storm. Now she needs to be carried—to Warsaw, to hold her dying mother’s hand, to kiss it in the traditional Polish gesture of deep respect and love, to introduce our youngest to the babcia she’s only dreamed of, and to give our girls the chance to create memories steeped in Polish heritage: sharing family stories, perhaps even preparing simple traditional foods together like pierogi or other comforting dishes that bring generations closer. Picture it:
Our 10-year-old finally wrapping her arms around Babcia for the first time, feeling that warm, multi-generational embrace so central to Polish family life. Tears of joy and sorrow as my wife whispers “I’m here, Mama,” and gently kisses her hand. Our daughters hearing stories in person, absorbing the wisdom and love that Polish babcie pass down, saying what needs to be said—before the door closes forever. These are the sacred, culturally profound moments that make life worth everything we’ve endured—moments of respect, tenderness, and unbreakable family ties that Polish traditions have cherished for generations. We are hanging on by a thread. Please—if you can give even $5, $10, or more—it brings us closer to this once-in-a-lifetime reunion. If you can’t donate, sharing could reach the one person who can help make it happen. My wife doesn’t deserve this pain after all she’s given. She deserves to give her mother one last embrace rooted in Polish love and tradition, our youngest her first, and our family the closure of heritage, not regret. From the depths of our hearts, thank you for any kindness. Thank you for helping us cross this ocean in time. With tears, hope, and gratitude, Quentin Bailey
  • Warsaw, Poland
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