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Elana's Space

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November 8, 2020
by Elana
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About My Dad’s Burial

My dad’s burial has been on my mind. The whole experience is a very long and meandering story filled with frustration but ultimately ends in Grace, and I’ll summarize as best I can.

We decided on cremation originally. We met with a man named David from a funeral home in Las Vegas who was kind and caring and we couldn’t have asked for a better person to help us with such a task. Did we want a lock of his hair? A thumb print? A picture before cremation?? Really?? We asked questions and filled out all of the paperwork.

As we were leaving, David said, “You guys are like my family. We’re a big family and we care about each other and love each other.” He said that a lot of the families he meets with are angry, yell at each other and him in the meeting room, and ask him to lie about cause of death which is completely out of his hands. My heart goes out to those families.

A couple of days before the scheduled cremation my mom received a phone call from a Rabbi in Las Vegas asking if we would consider burial instead and he’d be willing to cover the cost. What? My dad certainly didn’t know any Rabbis in Vegas. I don’t think he knew any Jewish people there either. I called the Rabbi. Basically, someone in my father’s family in Israel asked everyone he knew for help to bury my dad instead of cremation. They were very concerned that he wouldn’t be buried. So, someone in Israel knew someone who knew someone who knew someone who had a daughter whose child attended the Rabbi’s daycare at his congregation – in Las Vegas! The Rabbi laughed and called it a “Jewish connection.”

To appease the family we halted the cremation. This decision was made lightly. We were now going to need a new death certificate and a new permit for burial. The Rabbi and I went back and forth about details over the next couple of weeks. He required a plot in the Jewish section of a cemetery, which was a lot of work for my sister, and a Jewish casket. He was only available for the service on certain days. And on and on we went.

I was frustrated that this was taking so long. I couldn’t sleep. I felt intense panic in the middle of the night thinking of my dad’s body in some cold storage locker. I know his soul wasn’t there but there were so many details up in the air and it felt like we were all in limbo. Not to mention the thousands of dollars I wound up paying for a burial we didn’t really want while trying to coordinate all of this from afar. I said to the Rabbi, “My dad has been dead for three weeks. What’s the soonest we can do this, please? Please?”

Looking back though, this experience mirrored how my dad lived. Lots of drama, nothing was easy or straightforward, chaos and anxiety for everyone.

It all finally came together about four weeks after my dad died. When I met the Rabbi in person at the cemetery. He said to me:

“Elana, I was with your father this morning [at the funeral home]. Two other men and I bathed him, dressed him in the traditional shrouds, and prayed over him for about an hour. I gave him a pillow so he could be comfortable. I spread some dirt from Israel in the coffin with him. I treated him as if he was my own father.”

Tears sprang to my eyes. When was the last time someone was this kind to my dad? This was a man who never met my father and never met any of my family. He and two other men, who also didn’t know us, spent time doing something that must not have been pleasant given how long my dad had been gone and we didn’t embalm. The Rabbi also told me that he found 10 other men to carry the coffin and pray the kaddish for my dad during the burial.

We walked to the plot where the cemetery staff had set up a lovely blue tent and blue chairs and tissues on each. This was more than I expected. My brother’s friends showed up (thanks guys!) and when we all sat down, there were exactly the number of chairs needed – not one extra nor one needed. 

The Rabbi and his men carried my dad from the van to his final resting place, stopping every few steps to pray in Hebrew. He performed a brief service, more praying. I remember looking at all of these men who had taken off of work that morning to be there for a man they didn’t know. It was very moving.

We cried, we each shoveled dirt in the grave (including the 10 men), we said our goodbyes.

Before the grave was filled the Rabbi threw in dozens of books over the coffin. Tons of books, four to five boxes of Hebrew texts. “So that he has knowledge with him always.” I’ve never heard of this, and it was quite a sight to see all of those books in the ground. It was appropriate though since my pop loved to read and studied the Talmud when he was younger.

Overall it was a day of blessings and I finally felt at peace when it was over. My dad was finally settled and several people had come out to care for him in a really loving way. I was able to sleep well that night for the first time in weeks.

I did ask the Rabbi once how he felt about doing all of this for a man that actually thought Rabbis were con men and thought religion was silly. The Rabbi said, “People can lose their way, but we got him back in the end.” Not sure what to say about that.

I still have mixed feelings about what we did. I think my dad would have hated being buried in traditional clothing, and I didn’t know the Rabbi was going to do that. I think he would have thought all the praying was a waste of time. I think he would have asked me why I let his family pressure us into a traditional burial when that’s not how he lived his life. I know he would have hated how much money I spent on the whole thing. “Why you do this, Elana??” But I do think he would have liked being buried in Las Vegas since he loved that city so much and kept trying to get us to move there. And I know he would have loved all of us being together for him.

(Note: Please talk to your family about your preferences for your funeral/service. Write it down and make plans. It will really help those who have to handle all the details. We have decided on Better Place Forests and everyone in our family knows this.)

November 3, 2020
by Elana
2 Comments

Star Wars and After Dinner Stories

When I was little we had family meals every evening. From my young child perspective, the kitchen felt warm, the wall paper was yellow with flowers, the wooden kitchen table was large, and there was a lot of food. I have the sense of generous dishes of rice, chicken, kebab, potatoes, Israeli salad, vegetables, pita, homemade hummus. (I do know how fortunate I am to have had this.)

I am the oldest of five and back then there was me and three of my sisters. My brother didn’t join our family until several years later. The food was always good – thanks, mom. I remember my mom saying that she learned to cook from my dad and his mother so we grew up on Middle Eastern food – yum.

After dinner, instead of helping my mom clean up (why did you let us get away with that, mom??) we sat around the dinner table and my father made up stories for us. I don’t remember the content of them now, but my favorites were his Star Wars stories. After dinner he took the Luke, Leia, and Han on adventures that had nothing to do with the movies and we absolutely loved every minute of it. There was intense suspense and he did all the voices. The good guys always won. We sat glued, on his lap and on the seats next to him, listening to every word and I imagined his story playing out in my head.

Some nights he didn’t really have any stories to tell or was probably really tired after a hard day’s work, but we begged and begged him until he gave in. He laughed and laughed and asked my mom, “You see this? Why they love it so much?” He had this way of laughing and talking at the same time in a high pitched voice that made others around him laugh too.

He always ended his stories with “And may the Force be with you!” We screamed and clapped with joy.

Dad, we loved it so much because we loved Star Wars and loved you. You paying attention to us in that way and doing something just for us. Something you created just for us. It felt special. It was a time when you weren’t angry and I wasn’t afraid of you. It was you at your best and most loving.

November 2, 2020
by Elana
4 Comments

What It Was Like When My Dad Died

I don’t remember in what order things happened but here are a few things that stand out for me the weekend that he died in no particular order.

My sisters and I received word from my brother on a Friday afternoon. It was shocking, unexpected, hard to wrap my head around. I went home immediately, told my husband and daughter, and we cried for a little while. We left for Vegas that evening to help my mom and brother. I remember being in automatic mode. Pack, get gas, drive. I called some friends during the drive to let them know about my dad. “How are you doing, E?” Not sure, in shock, don’t know how to feel, hasn’t set in yet really. Have you ever had that feeling that something huge just happened and you don’t know how to feel about it? My eyes felt fixed open wide and my consciousness was hovering just above my body.

There was one night that my mom, brother, and I told stories about my dad and we laughed and laughed so hard that we were crying. My dad did some outlandish things, and this led to many funny stories over the years. My brother, Eli, and sister, Tamara, are really good at sharing these. Like the time my dad walked into Best Buy and asked to buy a Netflix. He was funny, even when he wasn’t trying to be.

That weekend we looked at old family photos, many of my mom and dad as a young couple. This was fun and sad at the same time. Is there a word for that? Something that feels good to do but also feels sad?

When I went into his home to see what kind of cleaning out we’d have to do, it was eery and felt lonely. The place smelled and his bathroom door was closed. He died in that room in an unintentional and messy way. Damn, it was sad. We were going to have to deal with that mess somehow. We wound up hiring a biohazard company to clean up the bathroom. That entire day sucked for so many reasons and when the biohazard guy came out of the bathroom to talk to my mom about how much it was going to cost, I cried. I wasn’t able to bring myself to look in the bathroom before it was cleaned but I did after. He still had his pants hanging on a hook on the back of the bathroom door.

He lived in a condo owned by someone else. We needed to move his things out asap for the owner, who by the way wasn’t the greatest throughout this process. Given all of our work schedules and that we didn’t live in the area, we only had that weekend to do most of the work.

We knew very little about what he wanted for his body after his death. He was not religious, probably atheist, and didn’t have time for ceremony and ritual. Add that to the ever-growing list of difficult and timely decisions for us to make.

He didn’t leave a valid will, and we’d have to wade through the long and arduous probate process for his meager estate.

My brother cooked us dinner. After a long day of finding new homes for my dad’s belongings, that dinner was one of the most caring and delicious meals I’ve ever had. Not only did it taste good but I know my brother did it as a way of taking care of us all. Thanks, bro. It was much needed.

My family was so caring and gentle with each other. We all pitched in to clean out my dad’s place and although we needed to do it quickly for various reasons, it felt rushed. In 2-3 days most of his stuff was given away and most of his condo was empty. I had this feeling that he had been erased. That his whole life – everything he treasured – had been so easily gotten rid of. My dad really loved his things and after he was gone, those things didn’t really mean anything. What a lesson that was for me.

It was a tough few days.

November 1, 2020
by Elana
1 Comment

Healing From My Dad’s Death

This is the month my dad died last year – November. I can feel myself not really wanting to look at this fact and wanting to push it away as though it’s no big deal. But to lose one’s father seems like a big deal. And losing my father was confusing for me. He was a very large energetic force in my life and suddenly it was gone. He was sometimes abusive when I was younger and could be loving, funny, and generous.

It’s strange that it’s been one year since his death. It’s strange that I even wrote that sentence just now. It’s strange that we’re having to decide what to put on his grave marker right now. (How does one decide those things? Summing up a life in a few short words that will last forever? What would he want? What do we want?) It’s strange that my siblings and I now have conversations about “going to visit dad” at the cemetery. It’s strange that I don’t miss him that much.

I’m inspired today, (writing this on November 1), to acknowledge this month in some way that feels it will be healing for me and my internal relationship with my dad. When he died last year, things felt like a tornado with so much to do so quickly. So I’ve committed to spending time thinking and writing about my dad this month as a way to heal what I might not want to feel or see, positive or negative. I’m ready.

Why I give my money to FLYTE

November 27, 2018 by Elana | 0 comments

I started traveling when I was very young, and visiting different cities and experiencing other cultures has made a lasting, positive impact on my life.

Because of this, one of my missions is to support others in growing and living a full life through travel and Nomadic Matt’s nonprofit called FLYTE allows me do this in a way that tangible and meaningful.

From their website:

“The Foundation for Learning and Youth Travel Education (FLYTE) is a nonprofit organization that empowers youth living in underserved communities through transformative travel experiences. Today’s education system provides very little in the way of global education, and many struggling schools and teachers have little or no opportunity to offer their students access to resources that can provide any type of experiential international education. FLYTE was created to change that.”

What FLYTE does aligns perfectly with two of my passions: seeing the world and making it a better place for everyone!

The most recent school they took on a trip was Victor School in rural Montana. I received an update about the trip via FLYTE’s newsletter and was deeply touched by how these students were changing inside and out. Most of the students had not ever been outside the U.S. and they made the brave trip out of their comfort zone to Guatemala. They learned about the local culture they visited, interacted with locals and engaged in volunteer work. Along the way, they learned about themselves too.

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The students have an opportunity to journal and reflect on their journey. They noticed that what they see on the news is not always accurate about other people and countries. (!!!!!!) They realized how little some people in other countries live with – like clean water, toilet paper, education, and much more. These students found gratitude for what they had back in the states and an new appreciation for the lives of people unlike them.

You can read the full post here. Please take the time to do so.

I just learned that the next school chosen will be from Oakland, CA, and they’ll travel to Colombia. I can’t wait to hear about how their trip unfolds, opens their hearts, and changes them in such a lovely way.

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I donate monthly to FLYTE because I see how it’s helping make the world a better place starting with these young folks. These kids will take their learnings and new-found enthusiasm for exploring back to their hometowns and will hopefully encourage others to open their minds to people who are different.

FLYTE recently featured me as part of their Donor Spotlight series. My spotlight is posted here if you want to hear more about why I love this organization.

I invite you to join me in contributing to the significant growth for these young people by setting up a monthly donation to FLYTE. It’s a wonderful way to keep this work going AND getting a tax deduction!

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December 17, 2017
by Elana
2 Comments

Why I Love Getting Older! My 40s List

I decided at 27 that I didn’t want to live the rest of my life hating that I was getting older. I remember my mother being 28 for four years when I was a little girl, and I know many people that dread their next birthday and lie about their age (including men!). I did not want to spend the rest of my life fighting against the inevitable. So, at 27, I set an intention that “I will look forward to and celebrate wholeheartedly each and every decade that came my way – no matter what.”

Me loving Santorini

This has worked pretty well so far. As my 30th birthday approached, I felt excited and grateful for my age. I found myself looking forward to what my 30s would bring. What was in store for the next 10 years? How would my life change? What new friends would I make and where was my career going? What volunteer opportunities would I become involved in? What new countries would I visit?  (All good things by the way and a marriage to the love of my life.)

As my 40th birthday was approaching, I received quite a few concerning stares and pitying head shakes when people found out how old I was going to be. Seriously! I once shared in a circle of colleagues that I really loved aging and was looking forward to getting older and, I tell you, the moans were audible! Out of about 35 people, only one said that she agreed with me (she’s in her 70s now and as fierce af). One lovely woman actually said to me, “Well, it’s all downhill from here I’m afraid.” And sometimes I heard, “You’re only 40? I wish I could be 40 again. I hate getting old.”

Why do we do this to ourselves and each other?? Why do we lament with such sorrow when someone else ages one more year and then prophesize the worst for them? I promise, if we meet, I’m not going to look at you and dump all of my age-shame on you and tell you that you have nothing to look forward to anymore. Life is just too amazing for that bullshit, so stop it.

It’s clear I was hearing other people’s fear of aging, and I also know that my beliefs about aging will have a significant impact on my future. I’ve kept the promise I made to myself. I don’t carry fear about getting older, and I don’t feel shame when someone asks my age. I’ve earned these 43 years on this planet, and I’m going to enjoy them.

Here’s my list of why I love my 40s (in no particular order), and why I’m pretty sure I’ll love being 50 and beyond:

1. I continue to get better with age. I find with each year that passes, I become a better person, a better version of myself. Dare I say even a more truer version of myself. I’m more thoughtful, more kind, more patient, more confident. I’m not saying I don’t make mistakes! I certainly do and am far from being the perfect human being, whatever that is. But I learn from my mistakes more quickly and judge myself less and less for the things I do that are off track. I’m not so hard on myself anymore and the wisdom inside (and that does in fact come with age by the way) encourages me to challenge myself in greater ways, to keep pushing my edge. After years of personal work, I can see that I’ll always be a work in progress, and I enjoy seeing how my life is unfolding and who I’m becoming.

2. Things bug me less. I’m not the person you’ll hear say, “This world is going to hell” or “This country sucks.” (I admit, it’s been hard since the election but I’m trying.) This doesn’t mean that I bury my head in the sand; I take the view of, “Ok, so what can I do about this that actually helps and doesn’t add to it?”

3. My family rocks, and I have made and kept amazing friends! One of the benefits of maturity and experience is that I recognize pretty quickly people who don’t add loving to my life. My fam is just right for me and I couldn’t ask for a better husband or kiddo. And friends come and go. Some people are in our lives to add something to it for a certain period of time and then they leave. At times this is sad and other times it’s a relief. I am truly blessed to have such a good group of people that I call friends that my heart is always full. I surround myself with low-drama folks that love me. Quite a difference from when I was in my 20s!

4. I really like me and getting to know myself is a fun process. This wasn’t always so, and I struggled for years with self-loathing and making poor choices with my life. Time and a lot of personal work has given me a different perspective of who I am. I can’t do everything that I admire in others, but I have strengths that make me unique. I don’t have to live with labels that I believed when I was younger. I can always reinvent who I want to be, try new things, change my mind, start a new habit – you get the idea!

5. I’m now loving my body. I’m not what you’d call traditionally beautiful, and I love the way I am. I’ve started taking care of myself in a more consistent way. I make time for this and prioritize this time over money or other obligations. I may have some aches and pains now and then and instead of thinking, “Getting older sucks” I thank my body for how hard it works for me, and I try to take care of it better. This year in particular, I’ve started eating cleaner and training regularly. I’ve learned how taking care of my body has an immediate effect on how I’m feeling.

6. It’s ok if not everyone likes me. Not much else to say about this – I’m not everyone’s cup of tea, and I’m good with that.

7. I used to say that I wasn’t born with the “girly” gene – for example, I don’t wear make up much and hate shopping, can’t stand Grey’s Anatomy . . . (I know). And please don’t invite me to a goddess group. I’ve been made fun of in the past for this by other women. But now I love my nerdy, well-balanced masculine and feminine me.

8. I’ve forgiven myself for a lot of the bullshit that I’ve done and the pain I’ve invited into my life. I’ve had a lot to make peace with will continue to do so.

9. I don’t look back. I don’t pine for the 80s, nor do I wish I was 25 again. I have no regrets.

10. I’m less afraid to speak up and speak my mind. I used to worried about what others would think of me. My 40s have given me permission to say what I’m thinking with honesty, kindness, and consideration.

And this is only 43! Can’t wait to see what else awaits! Comments are welcome!

August 8, 2015
by Elana
1 Comment

The Privilege of Seeing Pain

“I started sharing my pain with everyone,” is what one of my teenage clients said to me recently. What an interesting way to say this. Her words hung in the air.

They are simple and poetic. Significant.

Her words gave me a new context for what it means to “act out.”

When the pain inside became too much for her to bear, she started sharing it with others as a way of saying, “I’m here, and I need someone to care. I can’t handle this on my own.” She had a rough childhood, and she started doing all of the harmful things one can imagine a teenage girl doing to herself, including stealing and harming others.

Adults do this as well – share their pain. The person who abuses their spouse, the dad who can’t stop yelling at his children, the woman who drinks excessively and physically abuses.

We all have these moments of sharing our pain, everyone one of us. Our prisons are filled with people who were sharing a pain too great to hold in.

Is there anyone you can think of in your life that has been sharing their pain with you? Is there anyone in your life that you’ve been unconsciously sharing your pain with? Ask yourself if there’s anything that you can do or want to do about this to help. There may not be . . . and there may be.

I’m reminded of this tale that I read a long time ago. I don’t know if it’s true, but I like the essence of it. The piece that sticks out to me: “If at any time during his or her life, the person commits a crime or aberrant social act, the individual is called to the center of the village and the people in the community form a circle around them. Then they sing their song to them. The tribe recognizes that the correction for antisocial behaviour is not punishment; it is love and the remembrance of identity.”

This teenager in front of me had forgotten who she was. That she had a well of good inside. After years of being given someone else’s misbeliefs and someone else’s pain, her real identity was buried.

What if we took the time to listen, care for, and show kindness to the people in front of us who share their pain instead of shame them, punish them, or incarcerate them? Might we be able to remind them of their goodness and their deep capacity for love?

Not easy, but worth a try.

June 14, 2015
by Elana
5 Comments

Forgiveness One

When my father says to me: Don’t have as many children as I did, Elana. It’s too much.
I hear: Children are hard to raise and need a lot of attention, and having five of them has been difficult. I love my children, and I want you to have an easier time than I did. I want the best for you.

When my father says to me: Why don’t you become a real doctor? Or a lawyer?
I hear: I wanted to be a doctor and we couldn’t afford it. I think being a doctor is one of the best professions anyone can have. You are so smart, I know you would be a good one.

When my father says to me: Why do you volunteer? Stop wasting your time on things you don’t get paid for.
I hear: You are valuable and your time is valuable. You have a lot to contribute to the world, and you deserve to be paid for your work. I’ve never had the experience of service, and I don’t understand it.

When my father says to me: Elana, if you ever need a lawyer, find the most crooked one you can. He will do whatever it takes to win.
I hear: I’ve been taken advantage of by many people, and I’ve lost a lot of money. I don’t want others to take advantage of you.

When my father says to me: Why don’t you marry someone from your own culture?
I hear: My marriage was not easy, and I think it was because we were from different countries. You deserve to be happy in your marriage, and this is how I think you can.

When my father says to me: Forget about your passion, and make as much money as you can so you can be happy. Making money is most important.
I hear: I grew up very poor, and my life was very hard in a very poor country. I don’t want that for you. You live in a rich country with a lot of opportunity and money means an easier life, which I want you to have.

When my father says to me all of the things that I used to judge and become angry about in my youth, I can now hear what he was really saying:

Elana, I love you.

December 27, 2014
by Elana
4 Comments

Healing Doesn’t Happen To Us

As a therapist, I’ve heard the phrase “Therapy doesn’t work” (or some version of this – it’s ineffective, takes too long) many times.

I wonder if some people go in to see a therapist thinking that the therapist can heal them in some instant, magical way. This was often the case in my work with foster and adopted children when parents and foster parents told me to “just fix” their child.

But healing doesn’t just happen to us. It happens because of us.

Each person needs to be an active participant in their own healing.

I strongly believe that the source of healing – anyone’s source of healing – doesn’t rest with the therapist. (The consciousness of the therapist is important, so please do find a competent one who continually does their own inner work.) But healing is a verb – own it. Healing requires conscious action, commitment, courage, and willingness.

You may be asking, “Then what’s a therapist for?”

A therapist shines a light on blindspots. A therapist is a guide and (hopefully) a loving and safe presence, which is needed when someone’s experiencing pain. A therapist can often symbolize the loving parent we may not have had but wanted.

A therapist holds the space for healing to take place and that healing comes from within the client.

If you don’t feel comfortable with your therapist, tell them. If it’s not a match, don’t give up on therapy – find a new therapist.

My dear friend and very talented TMJ and sleep specialist Dr. Dave Shirazi encourages his patients to take ownership of their own healing by having them sign a form which states the following:

“We understand you have come to us seeking help in resolution of the issues and problems you have been facing for considerable time now. We want to be clear on how the healing process works for everyone. At all times, and with no exceptions to this rule, you are always in control of your own healing and are even doing your own healing. All healthcare providers, at best, can only facilitate your well being, that is why there are no guarantees in medicine. It is 100% your responsibility to follow the directions, recommendations, referrals, care of appliances, office visits and treatment given by your healthcare provider(s), as well as to give feedback and inform us of any challenges and wins along the way. . . But we cannot heal for you. Please be clear on this point. To that end, and for this process to continue, we ask that you acknowledge your responsibility of your own health and well being. Responsibility is yours to have, and responsibility is your power of healing.

“I, (client name), understand that I am responsible for my own health and well being. I am fully aware that the doctors and staff and referred doctors at the TMJ & Sleep Therapy Centre of Conejo Valley are here to facilitate my wellness, but do not heal for me. My healing occurs by me and for me. . .”

This is brilliant. This kind of active healing requires being vulnerable and not just saying what one thinks they want their therapist to hear. It requires being honest with oneself and the therapist when things aren’t going right and giving that therapist feedback – and it requires doing the work.

 

October 23, 2014
by Elana
2 Comments

Sweet Moment: My In-Laws

When I share with friends that my husband’s parents are coming to visit and that said parents are going to be staying with us, I usually see a look on their face that resembles something like pity mixed with a little horror.

My in-laws (isn’t there another word for that?) just left this morning after spending 10 days in our home, and it was a really fun and lovely time. I’m aware of how lucky I am that I get along with my husband’s parents and that they like me too!

When they visit, my father-in-law fixes whatever needs fixing and my mother-in-law does things like this around the house:

I’ll share an experience that’s really the essence of my relationship with those lovely people referred to as my in-laws. They live on the east coast, and we fly out to visit them every year and stay in their home. A couple of years ago, they pulled out all of their family-inherited china and dishes and heirlooms and arranged these pieces on their large dining room table. The spread was just beautiful.

Diana (my mother in-law) told me and Tracy (her daughter) that they were starting to downsize and clean out their home. She shared that we could pick out whatever pieces we wanted to keep. There was a Danish tea set from the 1800s, several delicate tea cups, beautiful plates, items they received from their parents, items received as gifts from their wedding…

I took a moment and just stood in front of this table taking it all in – taking in the significance of what was happening. Diana and her husband were including me in this amazing act of passing on their treasured family items. My perception of what was happening was that they saw me as part of their family – of course I married their son and am family but this was in a way that I hadn’t realized before. And I was able to participate in this sacred family moment.

This really meant a lot to me. My own family doesn’t have family items or heirlooms to pass along. I assume that my relatives in my parents’ home countries probably inherited anything that was meant to be passed down.

So being part of this experience with my husband’s family was deeply moving for me. There’s something powerful about receiving an item that has been passed down. And not because I received some beautiful antique pieces, but because I am loved that much.