Love Letter from Gina : December 2021

December 2021

Dear Friends,

I recently rediscovered one of my favorite childhood books, “Where The Sidewalk Ends” by Shel Silverstein. With my 8-month-old daughter Allegra on my lap and her twin Bijoux playing on the floor below I sifted through the pages nostalgically. Immediately, I was transported back to my parents' bedroom where I was standing and proudly reciting “Hector The Collector” by heart to my dad. I had done something wrong and instead of grounding me or sending me to my room indefinitely he had “punished” me by making me memorize a poem that I liked. Why I picked that poem, I have no idea. Regardless, the “punishment” stuck with me.

My dad was creative like that. He was a parent who was always talking to me about my potential before I even knew what that meant. I wanted to make him proud and I also wanted to emulate the lifestyle he’d given us which involved traveling all over the world, often in a van or in budget motels. It didn’t matter how we got there or where we stayed, what was important is that we did it. We have a treasure trove of memories because my mom and dad weren’t the type of people to wait until they had it all figured out to go and explore or have some family adventure. This is the gift I received as the last child of four after one had passed tragically a few years before I was born. As a family, thanks to Michele’s gift, we knew there was no time to waste. Each moment is precious. Life is to be lived and family and friends are to be loved. 

Loving comes with its risks. As I look at my children now, I can’t imagine losing them. I love them so much. Even the thought of it pains me. As I see my parents aging, I feel my breath shorten again at the thought of loss. My parents loved me well; I can’t imagine losing them either. And yet, it creeps in and I am trying my best to allow it, not to resist it because this is the natural cycle of life. We must let go let go let go to be present with what is.

When I try to encourage my dad to eat more vegetables and less red meat, maybe lay off the sugar a little bit - he had a cancerous kidney removed a few years ago -  he would say, “What??!! Do you want to live forever??!!” Yes dad, I do. And I guess I want you to live forever too because who knows what's next and will you be there to hold my hand and help me learn what to do?

“Growing old is the pits!” dad often says. He recently gave up skiing after teaching all of us kids, grandkids, my mom and countless others. He probably shouldn't be biking anymore though of course he wants an e-bike, he can’t walk all that well or breathe at altitude, standing up can be tricky if the chair is a little too low. Sometimes when he farts, well…

Growing old IS the pits. And, it’s not. It’s better than the alternative. Growing old surrounded by people you love and who love you is not the pits. I’ve never seen my dad cry so much in my whole life as he has this last year. As a matter of fact, I don’t think a day goes by that he doesn't shed tears feeling the poignant tenderness of the moments he’s sharing with friends and family. To see him with my kids, my two precious magical twins that came after so many years of trying and yearning, brings tears to both our eyes. He is SO good with them. His face fully expresses the joy that is in his heart in getting to know them. Each time he looks at them or looks at me with them he gets to remember that my dream has been realized. For him, my joy is his joy. He is that kind of guy. Even your joy - those of you who met him at Lead with Love over the years - your joy was his joy, too. He came to Lead with Love certainly not to do yoga or drink green juice, but to connect. To witness me in my joy in creating, connecting, curating, hosting. My God he is a connector. He wants to know you and pretty much everything about you. He made you feel as though you mattered. I hope I got a little bit of that from him. 

My dad is weaker now. I am not sure how much longer he’ll be able to make it up to Aspen to visit us. This Christmas, I get to welcome him and my mom for Bijoux and Allegra’s first Christmas. I feel so lucky. I was thinking tonight, maybe I’ll memorize that poem again. 

Hector the Collector

Collected bits of string,

Collected dolls with broken heads,

And rusty bells that would not ring…

Nothing can make these precious moments last. The more I try hold on to them the more they turn dark with worry and dread vs light with laughter and love. I want to share so many things with my children that I learned from my dad. I want them to learn it from him, but he’s not that guy anymore. He doesn’t have the strength or energy to teach them to ski, his voice is weaker and he can’t quite carry the room like he used to entertaining people wherever he went, but what he does have is even more powerful than that. My dad has a sense of vulnerability that touches all of us. He knows that what feels infinite, our love for each other, is finite. Not in energy as we know it will always be there, but in this physical form. We don’t get these days back as a family together sharing food, memories and holding on to each other in the flesh. Nothing is better than a hug from mom and dad. I am sure so many of you reading this would give anything for that. 

Pause and feel that person you miss right now. 

I imagine in some form, they are here with us. And if you're lucky enough to have the people you love near you in physical form, hold on tight! Collect the memories, leave nothing unsaid. Forgive. Allow. Receive. 

My wish for all of us this coming year is expressed in another poem by Shel Silverstien. I’ll leave you with that and my intention to hug and love on each of you in ‘22. 

Love, Gina