When a loved one dies, our memories of them can provide comfort, give us a way to process our grief, and continue the feeling of connection with them, all while allowing us to continue to honor their lives.
Over the last several weeks, we asked several community members and Hospicare staff to share how they keep memories of their loved ones alive.
I lost my mom 18 years ago but have so many memories both from my childhood and as an adult. My 10-year-old daughter didn’t get to know her, but I share lots. Sometimes when baking or doing a craft project with my daughter Andie, I’ll look to the heavens to thank Mom for what she taught me and share what we’re doing. It reminds me of working with her in my childhood.
Bob Haight, CEO and President, Cortland County Chamber of Commerce
This year we did a ritual in February on Mom’s death day where I invited my sister and her grown sons and my father over for a meal and an evening. We set up an altar for Mom and decorated it with flowers together. Then we sat around it and wrote letters to her. Those who wanted to share their letters read them out loud, the rest kept them. It was so moving! I left the altar for two weeks and then put the flowers and any loose petals in the creek. I wanted her to see little blossoms everywhere, saying hello.”
Rebecca Barry, Trumansburg, author of two books and the Substack newsletter Out of My Mind
I keep mementos of lost loved ones. One or two physical objects I can feel, hold, and imagine them holding. It keeps their memory in a tangible way. A baseball, a pan for baking brownies…
Zach Lewis, Hospicare Residence Nurse
I try to remember people with sentimental items, like my grandmother’s rosary and my grandfather’s old shirts, which were turned into pillows. I also try to remember them by living my life by the values they imparted in me, as a way to honor their memories and the lives they led.
Robert Cantelmo, Mayor, City of Ithaca
It’s a difficult question. When I started thinking about it, I thought, “How do you put into words something that is a sensation, something that is totally spiritual and part of one’s physique, character, one’s way of looking at one’s self and the rest of the world?” All of those loved ones are a part of who I am and my being. It’s like nature. I don’t even have to think about it. I look out the window and I know, that was made. My maker is my being. There isn’t anything that happens that I feel he’s not there.
I have a list of about 25 people, and I have a mass said on their birthday. All the prayers offered that day, they get the benefit of. At the beginning of the year, I send my list to the church secretary, and she lets me know if there are any masses available on those birthdays. A cousin of mine passed away two months ago. She and her husband had four biological children and adopted seven others. She had a bad case of dementia that ravaged her. It was very sad. But she had been a very strong, powerful woman. When I went to the funeral, I got this idea: “I need to have a mass said for Connie.” And I found out that the mass on Easter Sunday at 11:30 had not been spoken for. The resurrection! This is perfect for her.”
Jeannie Barnaba, one of Hospicare’s longest-serving volunteers