Lee Kravitz's Blog, page 2
January 21, 2011
“I Loved Him, Too”
In response to an article I wrote for USA Weekend magazine about how it's never too late to make amends, Hugs and Cuddles wrote:
"Thirty-nine years ago, my fiancé drowned. I'd been very close to his parents, especially his mother. The minister had told them to take a vacation away from home, and I thought it strange that they didn't talk to me before leaving. I was told they no longer wanted to see me, that my presence, at church and in their home, would be too painful for them. I was also told I wasn't good enough for their son, which is why God took him away! Not wanting to cause them more pain than losing their son, I moved away without another word to them.
"At 58, I made a trip back to my hometown this past summer for a class reunion and decided to relocate there. My dead fiance's mother is now in a care center. Once I worked up the courage to do so, I visited her. The immediate response of hugs and tears proved to me that she never told me to stay away! Her love, gentleness, kindness and acceptance of me, all these years later, have healed so many old wounds!"
Have you ever avoided seeing someone because you were afraid that your presence would spark painful memories in them? I did. After my Aunt Fern was institutionalized with schizophrenia in 1995, my entire family avoided seeing her for nearly 14 years because her doctor had allegedly said that our visits could deepen her depression. In light of Hug and Cuddle's story and the joy that accompanied my reunion with Fern (see "A Place for Me to Visit Her"), would you reconsider your fears about hurting that someone in your life? Why or why not?
"Thirty-nine years ago, my fiancé drowned. I'd been very close to his parents, especially his mother. The minister had told them to take a vacation away from home, and I thought it strange that they didn't talk to me before leaving. I was told they no longer wanted to see me, that my presence, at church and in their home, would be too painful for them. I was also told I wasn't good enough for their son, which is why God took him away! Not wanting to cause them more pain than losing their son, I moved away without another word to them.
"At 58, I made a trip back to my hometown this past summer for a class reunion and decided to relocate there. My dead fiance's mother is now in a care center. Once I worked up the courage to do so, I visited her. The immediate response of hugs and tears proved to me that she never told me to stay away! Her love, gentleness, kindness and acceptance of me, all these years later, have healed so many old wounds!"
Have you ever avoided seeing someone because you were afraid that your presence would spark painful memories in them? I did. After my Aunt Fern was institutionalized with schizophrenia in 1995, my entire family avoided seeing her for nearly 14 years because her doctor had allegedly said that our visits could deepen her depression. In light of Hug and Cuddle's story and the joy that accompanied my reunion with Fern (see "A Place for Me to Visit Her"), would you reconsider your fears about hurting that someone in your life? Why or why not?
January 20, 2011
A Place for Me to Visit Her
There are certain places in our lives that have a primal pull: They keep drawing us back, to refresh our faith in both humanity and ourselves.
For me, Aurora Manor, a special-care facility near Cleveland, is one such place. It was there that I found my Aunt Fern nearly 15 years after I and everyone else in my family had abandoned her, renewing my sense of compassion and caring.
I have written at length about Fern in my book UNFINISHED BUSINESS. She was the one relative who never seemed to judge me when I was a child, she just cheered me on. We shared secrets and dreams.
Fern would have become a concert pianist had she not been diagnosed a paranoid schizophrenic when she was 13 and spent so many years in and out of mental institutions.
In her twenties, when she was still petite and beautiful, she got married to a sweet-talking gambling man named Jerry who stuck with her even as her weight ballooned from all the medication she took and her demons festered.
For a while Jerry and Fern lived in Florida; later, they shared an apartment in Cleveland with my grandmother, and spent far too much of their days watching bad TV and smoking.
Fern's hallucinations and ability to take care of herself grew worse after Jerry died. There was an incident involving my grandmother and, in 1995, Fern ended up at Aurora Manor, unbeknownst to everyone else, including my father and Uncle Pudge, her two older brothers.
In April 2008 I set out to find Fern as the first item on my list of unfinished business. Looking back, I cannot imagine how much less rich my life would have been had I not made that commitment. Whenever I would wheel Fern into the courtyard for conversation and a smoke, or drive to a nearby supermarket to get her copies of the magazines she loved, or sit in the lobby showing her the latest photos of my children, or try my best to soothe her nightmares, I would feel without judgment and totally at her service, and restored.
On one visit, Fern told me how scared she was that she would die alone. "All I want is someone there holding my hand," she said. More than anything else, she wanted to be buried next to her Gerald. She claimed that he had bought two plots before he died -- "number 104A for him, and number 104B for me" at Mount Olive Cemetery.
I was surprised by that revelation. My Uncle Pudge, Fern's brother, had presumed that she would be happy being cremated when she died. No one at Aurora Manor had led me or him to think otherwise. So I drove to Mount Olive. And, sure enough, Jerry had bought two plots before he died -- one for himself and one for Fern. I walked out to see them -- and took photos with my cell phone for evidence. The words: "Beloved Husband" were inscribed on the gravestone above Jerry's name. When I showed the photos to Fern, she said "Thank you, Lee Richard" and hugged me.
I am writing this post because during the week before Christmas, Fern had a heart attack and died. Since UNFINISHED BUSINESS came out, many readers have written that they feel close to Fern, that she reminds them of one of their own relatives. I want you to know that Fern got her dying wish: she is resting in peace next to her Gerald.
My Uncle Pudge took the first plane from Denver to Cleveland to make the arrangements. It was an almost super-human feat considering that Pudge had recently been operated on for cancer, coronary disease and to replace a fractured hip. My brothers Randy and Roger were at the gravesite, as was my cousin Hedy and her husband Jim, and Sally, the wonderful nurse and human being who had taken such good care of Fern during those 14 years when no one visited her.
I was in New York during the funeral, snowed in by the biggest blizzard of the winter, but I was thinking about Fern all weekend, as were my parents in Florida and my brother Ron in California. I had last visited Fern on November 4th, her 69th birthday. I had brought along my computer that day so I could show her photos from Ben and Caroline's B'Nai Mitzvah. It had taken place during the summer and I could see how much Fern wished that she had been there. I promised that I would bring Ben and Caroline to see her soon, maybe this spring, and Noah too. That won't happen, which makes me sad. But I feel blessed that Fern and I had a chance to be part of each other's lives again, that I helped her get her dying wish, that there's still a place for me to visit her.
For me, Aurora Manor, a special-care facility near Cleveland, is one such place. It was there that I found my Aunt Fern nearly 15 years after I and everyone else in my family had abandoned her, renewing my sense of compassion and caring.
I have written at length about Fern in my book UNFINISHED BUSINESS. She was the one relative who never seemed to judge me when I was a child, she just cheered me on. We shared secrets and dreams.
Fern would have become a concert pianist had she not been diagnosed a paranoid schizophrenic when she was 13 and spent so many years in and out of mental institutions.
In her twenties, when she was still petite and beautiful, she got married to a sweet-talking gambling man named Jerry who stuck with her even as her weight ballooned from all the medication she took and her demons festered.
For a while Jerry and Fern lived in Florida; later, they shared an apartment in Cleveland with my grandmother, and spent far too much of their days watching bad TV and smoking.
Fern's hallucinations and ability to take care of herself grew worse after Jerry died. There was an incident involving my grandmother and, in 1995, Fern ended up at Aurora Manor, unbeknownst to everyone else, including my father and Uncle Pudge, her two older brothers.
In April 2008 I set out to find Fern as the first item on my list of unfinished business. Looking back, I cannot imagine how much less rich my life would have been had I not made that commitment. Whenever I would wheel Fern into the courtyard for conversation and a smoke, or drive to a nearby supermarket to get her copies of the magazines she loved, or sit in the lobby showing her the latest photos of my children, or try my best to soothe her nightmares, I would feel without judgment and totally at her service, and restored.
On one visit, Fern told me how scared she was that she would die alone. "All I want is someone there holding my hand," she said. More than anything else, she wanted to be buried next to her Gerald. She claimed that he had bought two plots before he died -- "number 104A for him, and number 104B for me" at Mount Olive Cemetery.
I was surprised by that revelation. My Uncle Pudge, Fern's brother, had presumed that she would be happy being cremated when she died. No one at Aurora Manor had led me or him to think otherwise. So I drove to Mount Olive. And, sure enough, Jerry had bought two plots before he died -- one for himself and one for Fern. I walked out to see them -- and took photos with my cell phone for evidence. The words: "Beloved Husband" were inscribed on the gravestone above Jerry's name. When I showed the photos to Fern, she said "Thank you, Lee Richard" and hugged me.
I am writing this post because during the week before Christmas, Fern had a heart attack and died. Since UNFINISHED BUSINESS came out, many readers have written that they feel close to Fern, that she reminds them of one of their own relatives. I want you to know that Fern got her dying wish: she is resting in peace next to her Gerald.
My Uncle Pudge took the first plane from Denver to Cleveland to make the arrangements. It was an almost super-human feat considering that Pudge had recently been operated on for cancer, coronary disease and to replace a fractured hip. My brothers Randy and Roger were at the gravesite, as was my cousin Hedy and her husband Jim, and Sally, the wonderful nurse and human being who had taken such good care of Fern during those 14 years when no one visited her.
I was in New York during the funeral, snowed in by the biggest blizzard of the winter, but I was thinking about Fern all weekend, as were my parents in Florida and my brother Ron in California. I had last visited Fern on November 4th, her 69th birthday. I had brought along my computer that day so I could show her photos from Ben and Caroline's B'Nai Mitzvah. It had taken place during the summer and I could see how much Fern wished that she had been there. I promised that I would bring Ben and Caroline to see her soon, maybe this spring, and Noah too. That won't happen, which makes me sad. But I feel blessed that Fern and I had a chance to be part of each other's lives again, that I helped her get her dying wish, that there's still a place for me to visit her.
A Place to Visit
There are certain places in our lives that have a primal pull: They keep drawing us back, to refresh our faith in both humanity and ourselves.
For me, Aurora Manor, a special-care facility near Cleveland, is one such place. It was there that I found my Aunt Fern nearly 15 years after I and everyone else in my family had abandoned her, renewing my sense of compassion and caring.
I have written at length about Fern in my book UNFINISHED BUSINESS. She was the one relative who never seemed to judge me when I was a child, she just cheered me on. We shared secrets and dreams.
Fern would have become a concert pianist had she not been diagnosed a paranoid schizophrenic when she was 13 and spent so many years in and out of mental institutions.
In her twenties, when she was still petite and beautiful, she got married to a sweet-talking gambling man named Jerry who stuck with her even as her weight ballooned from all the medication she took and her demons festered.
For a while Jerry and Fern lived in Florida; later, they shared an apartment in Cleveland with my grandmother, and spent far too much of their days watching bad TV and smoking.
Fern's hallucinations and ability to take care of herself grew worse after Jerry died. There was an incident involving my grandmother and, in 1995, Fern ended up at Aurora Manor, unbeknownst to my father, who was her oldest brother, and to everyone else.
In April 2008 I set out to find Fern as the first item on my list of unfinished business. Looking back, I cannot imagine how much less rich my life would have been had I not made that commitment to see her again. Whenever I would wheel Fern into the courtyard for conversation and a smoke, or drive to a nearby supermarket to get her copies of the magazines she loved, or sit in the lobby showing her the latest photos of my children, or try to soothe the nightmares and fears that caused her so much pain, I felt without judgment and totally at her service, and restored.
On one visit, Fern told me how scared she was that she would die alone. "All I want is someone there holding my hand," she said. More than anything else, she wanted to be buried next to her Gerald. She claimed that he had bought two plots before he died -- "number 104A for him, and number 104B for me" at Mount Olive Cemetery.
I was surprised by that revelation. My Uncle Pudge, Fern's brother, had presumed that she would be happy being cremated when she died. No one at Aurora Manor had led me or him to think otherwise. So I drove to Mount Olive. And, sure enough, Jerry had bought two plots before he died -- one for himself and one for Fern. I walked out to see them -- and took photos with my cell phone for evidence. The words: "Beloved Husband" were inscribed on the gravestone above Jerry's name. When I showed the photos to Fern, she said "Thank you, Lee Richard" and hugged me.
I am writing this post because during the week before Christmas, Fern had a heart attack and died. Since UNFINISHED BUSINESS came out, many readers have written that they feel close to Fern, that she reminds them of one of their own relatives. I want you to know that Fern got her dying wish: she is resting in peace next to her Gerald.
My Uncle Pudge took the first plane from Denver to Cleveland to make the arrangements. It was an almost super-human feat considering that Pudge had recently been operated on for cancer, coronary disease and to replace a fractured hip. My brothers Randy and Roger were at the gravesite, as was my cousin Hedy and her husband Jim, and Sally, the wonderful nurse and human being who had taken such good care of Fern during those 14 years when no one visited her.
I was in New York during the funeral, snowed in by the biggest blizzard of the winter, but I was thinking about Fern all weekend. I had last visited her on November 4th, her 69th birthday. (My brother Ron got to see her a few weeks after I did, to her great delight.) I brought along my computer so that I could show her photos from Ben and Caroline's B'Nai Mitzvah. It had taken place during the summer and I could see how much Fern wished that she had been there. I promised that I would bring Ben and Caroline to Aurora Manor soon, maybe this spring, and 11-year-old Noah too. That won't happen, which makes me sad. But I'm happy that we got to be part of each other's lives again, that I helped her get her dying wish, that there's still a place for me to visit her.
December 31, 2010
One Step at a Time
A recovering alcoholic tells how she's been able to ease her burdens.
Czarmommy wrote:
"After years of alcoholism and drug abuse, I turned my life over to a 12-step program. I am 19 years, 10 months, 28 days clean and sober. I started small: calling a local car dealer 'Mr.' despite his insistence I call him Pat. I'd abused so many people, it was now my privilege to show them the respect they deserved. I went on to bigger things like returning items I'd 'borrowed' only never returned, then to money. My older brother had lent me $3000 at one time. I never paid it back, and it was the elephant in the room for me. At 13 years sober I did so (with interest). No more elephants! Going through some old picture albums, I found pictures of my ex-husband and his family, looked him up, and sent them to him, 30 years later, with a note wishing his life has been well. Now, I'm searching for an ex-boyfriend to right a wrong, lifting another burden, setting me free."
Recovering alcoholics often find themselves with numerous amends to make. By starting small, Czarmommy was able to succeed at taking on bigger challenges. Would her system work for you -- or would you be more likely to start with the biggest challenges first?
Czarmommy wrote:
"After years of alcoholism and drug abuse, I turned my life over to a 12-step program. I am 19 years, 10 months, 28 days clean and sober. I started small: calling a local car dealer 'Mr.' despite his insistence I call him Pat. I'd abused so many people, it was now my privilege to show them the respect they deserved. I went on to bigger things like returning items I'd 'borrowed' only never returned, then to money. My older brother had lent me $3000 at one time. I never paid it back, and it was the elephant in the room for me. At 13 years sober I did so (with interest). No more elephants! Going through some old picture albums, I found pictures of my ex-husband and his family, looked him up, and sent them to him, 30 years later, with a note wishing his life has been well. Now, I'm searching for an ex-boyfriend to right a wrong, lifting another burden, setting me free."
Recovering alcoholics often find themselves with numerous amends to make. By starting small, Czarmommy was able to succeed at taking on bigger challenges. Would her system work for you -- or would you be more likely to start with the biggest challenges first?
Father's Day Epiphany
A young man asks himself an important question.
"Three months ago something happened to me...I recognized that there is more to life than phone calls and emails, than calling recruits and worrying about the team. I stayed up all night thinking: Is this the career path I want?" The letter had come from a young man who identified himself as an assistant coach of one of the nation's top college swim teams. He was also a new parent and it bothered him that he was already making excuses for not attending the important events in his son's life: "Will my son score his first goal or touchdown and I have to hear about it over the phone?"
Why was this young man so urgently writing to me?
On the Saturday before Father's Day, when he was 2,000 miles away from home and his son for a swim meet, he had walked into a bookstore and started browsing through a copy of Unfinished Business. "It was ironic that I chose to look at this shelf and pick up this book while I was going through the very same thing." As he perused the book, he came across a reference I had made to Mark 13:35: "Take heed, watch, for you know not when the time will come." Although this passage is typically interpreted as meaning the time for death, the young man saw it as meaning the time for the job that would enable him to become a more present and involved father. He would need to stay vigilant, he explained, because the right opportunity would present itself to him "when it is meant to happen."
I was moved to write him back: "Because you've been working so long, as an athlete and coach, at such a highly competitive level, it is only natural for you to be questioning your current career path as you embark on the demanding new adventure of parenting. The impressive thing is that you already recognize the importance of balancing work and family life. Most young people don't factor this into their choice of career or lifestyle and end up suffering the consequences -- a midlife identity crisis or divorce, deep regrets, a tense relationship with their children."
Whatever path he chooses -- to coach at a major college or the local high school, to pursue an entirely different career that keeps him even closer to home -- this first-time dad will stay true to his values and become a role model for other young fathers. Let's wish him the best of luck and hope that his time comes soon.
"Three months ago something happened to me...I recognized that there is more to life than phone calls and emails, than calling recruits and worrying about the team. I stayed up all night thinking: Is this the career path I want?" The letter had come from a young man who identified himself as an assistant coach of one of the nation's top college swim teams. He was also a new parent and it bothered him that he was already making excuses for not attending the important events in his son's life: "Will my son score his first goal or touchdown and I have to hear about it over the phone?"
Why was this young man so urgently writing to me?
On the Saturday before Father's Day, when he was 2,000 miles away from home and his son for a swim meet, he had walked into a bookstore and started browsing through a copy of Unfinished Business. "It was ironic that I chose to look at this shelf and pick up this book while I was going through the very same thing." As he perused the book, he came across a reference I had made to Mark 13:35: "Take heed, watch, for you know not when the time will come." Although this passage is typically interpreted as meaning the time for death, the young man saw it as meaning the time for the job that would enable him to become a more present and involved father. He would need to stay vigilant, he explained, because the right opportunity would present itself to him "when it is meant to happen."
I was moved to write him back: "Because you've been working so long, as an athlete and coach, at such a highly competitive level, it is only natural for you to be questioning your current career path as you embark on the demanding new adventure of parenting. The impressive thing is that you already recognize the importance of balancing work and family life. Most young people don't factor this into their choice of career or lifestyle and end up suffering the consequences -- a midlife identity crisis or divorce, deep regrets, a tense relationship with their children."
Whatever path he chooses -- to coach at a major college or the local high school, to pursue an entirely different career that keeps him even closer to home -- this first-time dad will stay true to his values and become a role model for other young fathers. Let's wish him the best of luck and hope that his time comes soon.
I just put them on my prayer list…
How do you respond to people who won't forgive you? This one woman, the victim of an abusive marriage, had a novel solution.
SpringSnow wrote:
"I had no idea how deeply a 16-year-long abusive marriage had affected my life and relationships, even long after I left it. My unaddressed PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) exacerbated years after the fact, and I realized how many people I'd hurt for years with my defensiveness and fear. I called former co-workers, bosses, acquaintances, and relatives, apologizing for what I'd put them through and opening up about my illness. Nearly all of them had an 'aha' moment of understanding when I spoke of the PTSD. Most were understanding and forgiving. A couple of people were unable to let go of their anger toward me, and I decided to just put them on my prayer list. But, by far the most poignant encounter was with a former co-worker who'd just been diagnosed with terminal cancer. While she heartily agreed I'd been insufferable, it was humbling to have reached out to her in time and heal some of the hurt I'd caused."
Has someone ever rejected your attempt to make amends? How did that make you feel? How did you choose to respond?
SpringSnow wrote:
"I had no idea how deeply a 16-year-long abusive marriage had affected my life and relationships, even long after I left it. My unaddressed PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) exacerbated years after the fact, and I realized how many people I'd hurt for years with my defensiveness and fear. I called former co-workers, bosses, acquaintances, and relatives, apologizing for what I'd put them through and opening up about my illness. Nearly all of them had an 'aha' moment of understanding when I spoke of the PTSD. Most were understanding and forgiving. A couple of people were unable to let go of their anger toward me, and I decided to just put them on my prayer list. But, by far the most poignant encounter was with a former co-worker who'd just been diagnosed with terminal cancer. While she heartily agreed I'd been insufferable, it was humbling to have reached out to her in time and heal some of the hurt I'd caused."
Has someone ever rejected your attempt to make amends? How did that make you feel? How did you choose to respond?
It took my mother's death to bring us together again
"My sister and I had a very bad falling out seven years ago. We said horrible words to one another and she said she never wanted to hear from me again. Then our mom passed away. I stayed up many a night crying my heart out. My heart was breaking because I didn't have my sister, my only sibling, to talk to.
"Several months ago I finally got up the nerve to call her. I figured the worst that could happen was she would hang up on me. She didn't. When she picked up the phone, she told me how badly she had wanted to talk with me when our mom died but she had been afraid to call me. We talked for hours that night.
"Last month, my husband and I flew to Florida to see her. It was such a wonderful reunion and all the bad things we had said to one another were forgotten. We hugged, cried and hugged some more. It's been over a month since we saw each other but we talk every night and I can't wait until I see her again in January. I am so happy I got up the nerve to call her. Life is too short to say and do bad things to each other. I am 71 and my sister is 68. We have never been closer. I love my sister so much."
"Several months ago I finally got up the nerve to call her. I figured the worst that could happen was she would hang up on me. She didn't. When she picked up the phone, she told me how badly she had wanted to talk with me when our mom died but she had been afraid to call me. We talked for hours that night.
"Last month, my husband and I flew to Florida to see her. It was such a wonderful reunion and all the bad things we had said to one another were forgotten. We hugged, cried and hugged some more. It's been over a month since we saw each other but we talk every night and I can't wait until I see her again in January. I am so happy I got up the nerve to call her. Life is too short to say and do bad things to each other. I am 71 and my sister is 68. We have never been closer. I love my sister so much."
I loved him, too
When her fiancée drowned, she left town to spare his parents the pain her presence caused. Thirty-nine years later she returned and worked up the courage to revisit his mother. . .
Hugs and Cuddles wrote:
"Thirty-nine years ago, my fiancé drowned. I'd been very close to his parents, especially his mother. The minister had told them to take a vacation away from home, and I thought it strange that they didn't talk to me before leaving. I was told they no longer wanted to see me, that my presence, at church and in their home, would be too painful for them. I was also told I wasn't good enough for their son, which is why God took him away! Not wanting to cause them more pain than losing their son, I moved away without another word to them.
"At 58, I made a trip back to my hometown this past summer for a class reunion and decided to relocate there. My dead fiance's mother is now in a care center here, his father passed away. Once I worked up the courage to do so, I visited his mom. The immediate response of hugs and tears proved to me that she never told me to stay away! Her love, gentleness, kindness and acceptance of me, all these years later, have healed so many old wounds!"
Have you ever avoided seeing someone because you were afraid that your presence would spark painful memories in them? In light of Hug and Cuddle's story and my own reunion with my Aunt Fern, which is detailed in Chapter One of my book, would you reconsider that position. Why or why not?
Hugs and Cuddles wrote:
"Thirty-nine years ago, my fiancé drowned. I'd been very close to his parents, especially his mother. The minister had told them to take a vacation away from home, and I thought it strange that they didn't talk to me before leaving. I was told they no longer wanted to see me, that my presence, at church and in their home, would be too painful for them. I was also told I wasn't good enough for their son, which is why God took him away! Not wanting to cause them more pain than losing their son, I moved away without another word to them.
"At 58, I made a trip back to my hometown this past summer for a class reunion and decided to relocate there. My dead fiance's mother is now in a care center here, his father passed away. Once I worked up the courage to do so, I visited his mom. The immediate response of hugs and tears proved to me that she never told me to stay away! Her love, gentleness, kindness and acceptance of me, all these years later, have healed so many old wounds!"
Have you ever avoided seeing someone because you were afraid that your presence would spark painful memories in them? In light of Hug and Cuddle's story and my own reunion with my Aunt Fern, which is detailed in Chapter One of my book, would you reconsider that position. Why or why not?
November 30, 2010
The Greatest Gift of All
In this season of gift-giving, I'll repeat what I've already said hundreds of times and in at least one blog post -- that the greatest gift you can give to yourself and future generations is the story of your life.
In writing down the story of your life, you gain a clearer picture of who you are. You revisit your hopes, dreams and fears and discover your life's main themes. You remember family traditions -- and the rites that marked your passage from childhood to adulthood. You recount your life's highlights and low points, acknowledging challenges faced and lessons learned. You express the values you hold most dear -- and your gratitude to the people who have nurtured, taught and inspired you.
By writing down the story of your life, you reaffirm what matters most in your life, enabling you to set a positive agenda for it going forward. But even more, you create a legacy for your children and grandchildren. As they embark on their own journeys of self-discovery, you and your story will help guide their way.
Most people, even those who intend to do it, never get around to writing their life story. "I don't have time," they say. Or: "I'm too busy living." My father is one of those people. He considers himself the family historian but when it comes to putting pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard, he gets writer's block. The prospect of organizing it all overwhelms him: "I wouldn't know where to start."
Now he'll have some help.
For Chanukah I'm giving him a subscription to The Remembering Site -- an easy-to-navigate tool for writing your own or your family's story. The Remembering Site offers questions and categories that prod memory and help you structure your thoughts and recollections into a narrative you can email your loved ones or print out from your computer. The site will archive your story for future generations to read -- or (for an additional cost) bind it into a book. Until December 10, you can get a one-time lifetime registration fee to the site for $25; after that, it's $50. You can learn more at www.TheRememberingSite.org.
I'm also going to give a subscription to my mother's sister -- my Aunt Marlene. When I had lunch with her recently, I realized that I have no idea who my maternal great-grandparents were -- where they came from, how they lived, what they valued in their lives. I've researched and written extensively about my paternal ancestors, but if you ask me to detail my mother's side of the equation, I draw a blank. Marlene, who has by far the best memory in the family, is probably my last best hope for piecing together a portrait of my maternal grandparents and great-grandparents that I can pass on to my children.
Preserving our family's story is one of the most important pieces of business we have as human beings -- it's the way we transmit the values and personalities that shape our character and put flesh on our DNA. That's why it's so important to hear and record the stories of our parents and grandparents before they die -- and to pass on our own stories to our children. And it's why I'll be giving the gift of remembering to my father and other loved ones this holiday season.
Lee Kravitz is the author of UNFINISHED BUSINESS: One Man's Extraordinary Year of Trying to Do the Right Thing.
The Greatest Gift of All
In this season of gift-giving, I'll repeat what I've already said hundreds of times and in at least one blog post -- that the greatest gift you can give to yourself and future generations is the story of your life.
In writing down the story of your life, you gain a clearer picture of who you are. You revisit your hopes, dreams and fears and discover your life's main themes. You remember family traditions -- and the rites that marked your passage from childhood to adulthood. You recount your life's highlights and low points, acknowledging challenges faced and lessons learned. You express the values you hold most dear -- and your gratitude to the people who have nurtured, taught and inspired you.
By writing down the story of your life, you reaffirm what matters most in your life, enabling you to set a positive agenda for it going forward. But even more, you create a legacy for your children and grandchildren. As they embark on their own journeys of self-discovery, you and your story will help guide their way.
Most people, even those who intend to do it, never get around to writing their life story. "I don't have time," they say. Or: "I'm too busy living." My father is one of those people. He considers himself the family historian but when it comes to putting pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard, he gets writer's block. The prospect of organizing it all overwhelms him: "I wouldn't know where to start."
Now he'll have some help.
For Chanukah I'm giving him a subscription to The Remembering Site -- an easy-to-navigate tool for writing your own or your family's story. The Remembering Site offers questions and categories that prod memory and help you structure your thoughts and recollections into a narrative you can email your loved ones or print out from your computer. The site will archive your story for future generations to read -- or (for an additional cost) bind it into a book. Until December 10, you can get a one-time lifetime registration fee to the site for $25; after that, it's $50. You can learn more at www.TheRememberingSite.org.
I'm also going to give a subscription to my mother's sister -- my Aunt Marlene. When I had lunch with her recently, I realized that I have no idea who my maternal great-grandparents were -- where they came from, how they lived, what they valued in their lives. I've researched and written extensively about my paternal ancestors, but if you ask me to detail my mother's side of the equation, I draw a blank. Marlene, who has by far the best memory in the family, is probably my last best hope for piecing together a portrait of my maternal grandparents and great-grandparents that I can pass on to my children.
Preserving our family's story is one of the most important pieces of business we have as human beings -- it's the way we transmit the values and personalities that shape our character and put flesh on our DNA. That's why it's so important to hear and record the stories of our parents and grandparents before they die -- and to pass on our own stories to our children. And it's why I'll be giving the gift of remembering to my father and other loved ones this holiday season.
Lee Kravitz is the author of UNFINISHED BUSINESS: One Man's Extraordinary Year of Trying to Do the Right Thing.
