Never too late: Creating new family traditions

I was walking the dogs through my neighborhood the other night when my neighbor John called out from the swing on his front porch, "How're you doing, Liisa?"

I was not doing well, but said, "Great! " reflexively. "You?" The question hung in the air as I walked away.

Sometimes things aren't great.

Seven years ago, when things were decidedly “not great” -- it was the year my husband's mother and grandfather died -- my husband's great aunt Sarah said, "I'm tired of only seeing people at funerals."

It was Great Aunt Sarah's 86th birthday that year and she invited both sides of her family to come celebrate. She lives in Fayetteville, next-door to her daughter Kate and son-in-law Pat on one side, and her son's family on the other.

Kate and Pat emptied the barn, borrowed tables from the church, rented a pig-cooker, and sent out invitations. Tina and Luanne, Great Aunt Sarah's nieces, flew in from Chicago and San Francisco to help.

Even though Gregg and I had been married for 15 years and together for almost 20, I had not met many of the people there. Gregg had met a handful only a handful of times. Most were from North Carolina, but some flew in from other states.

It was a beautiful day and before the meal, Great Aunt Sarah called everyone into the barn. She stood in the center of the circle to bless the food.

She said, "May this food nourish our souls and feed these relationships." We all said, "Amen."

It bears mentioning that Great Aunt Sarah had spent most of her childhood in an orphanage. She had married, worked hard, raised a family and established her own traditions with them. And now, at 86, when most people are letting go of lifelong traditions, she was seeding a new one.

I had a fine time that day -- we all did -- but honestly, I didn't think it would happen again.

But it did. Again and again and again, and seven years later, we recently found ourselves one more time in the same barn.

Though the number of people had increased, the tradition of opening the meal with a blessing had stayed the same.

Aunt Martha, whose husband of 60 years passed away last year, told me after the meal, "This is the first time I've been out since Sonny died. It's good to see everybody."

In other words, the science is bearing out what Great Aunt Sarah already knew: We need each other. We need to be with each other.

Several days ago, when I called to thank her for the day, she said rather dramatically, "I don’t know if I'll be around for the next one."

I let the comment hang in the air for a moment. I responded equally dramatically, "Well, I don't know if I will be either."

We both chuckled. I said goodbye and she said, "See you next year."

What is it that makes us think we can't establish new traditions, both at the beginning and toward the end of our lives? I don't know.

What I do know is that Great Aunt Sarah and her daughter Kate (the muscle behind the meal) have taught the rest of us, through example, that we're not dead until we're dead. That maybe we can even feel quite alive if we're able to meet loss with something that can be an antidote for loss: getting together.