What was the neighborhood like where you grew up?

"We lived in a nice neighborhood on the Ohio River in Ashland, Kentucky. Most of the houses were one level with yards that were well taken care of. They weren’t fancy, but they were nice." ~ Sandra, Client

I can picture this. Go on.

"In our neighborhood, we even had two white families that lived there, which was different from the way things were back then, during the time of segregation."

Next time you're with your parent, aunt or uncle or older cousin, ask this one question: Who do I take after in our family?

Maybe there's one trait that's similar to someone who came before you. When I asked my mother who my sister resembles, she said, "When Adina worked in a restaurant, she added up the bill in her head. And she did it one, two, three. She was just like Grandma in that way."

On your next call with a family member, ask:

What's something that you love to do that you got from your parent?

Patty paused as she placed herself outside with her father many decades ago.

This week’s prompt: What('s) kept you two together? 

This is one you can ask your parent, your spouse or even your child. Maybe it refers to a romantic relationship or a deep friendship, a current relationship or one that's in the past.

I asked my client, Jeff, about his 50+ years of marriage and was so moved  by his totally sweet response:

"We keep choosing each other."

Whether it's at the dinner table or over the phone, one question is all you need. This week’s prompt to help you build connection: What stands out about your childhood?

Here's how my client, David, responded to this question:

"I consider myself to have been quite fortunate to grow up where and when I did. The 50’s....

My mother and I cover a lot of ground, but some things are off limits.

Like I can say something funny or sweet about my father, but nothing heavy that will make her cry. And when she starts a conversation with, "I'm worried that...." I immediately try to change course because trust me, there's nothing that will alleviate my mother's fierce worry.

During Covid, I worked with her on her letter. We had a bunch of long phone calls and she had a blast  recounting wonderful memories. 

But guess what? I avoided certain topics. I could have used a neutral party.

When it comes to family and friends, Bev puts the E in Effort. She doesn't wait for the phone to ring or for an invitation to arrive. She doesn't expect people to come to her.

Her granddaughter's second birthday? Bev's in the car, heading north. Her own 80th birthday? She's planning the family trip to Bermuda. 

Bev makes things happen.  So why couldn’t she get going on her letter?

Ann was starting to slip.  Her doctor had her take a behind-the-wheel driving test and, sure enough, they took her license. Her kids said, and she agreed, that she needed more help at home.

She had only just been diagnosed with dementia, but she already couldn't call up words. It was like they were in a locked chest. She and her kids knew that, in time, her memories would disappear.

Her daughter, Sara, called me saying there was no time to waste.

I think it's safe to say that most of our parents are not in therapy. And it's probably also safe to say that they don't sit around recounting deep held memories and emotions with their friends, things like:

If you're one of the lucky ones, you have your person - the one you open your soul to. But let's face it, many of our parents are private and would never go there.

"Are you comfortable telling us your age?"

That's how Julia Louise-Dreyfus starts each episode of her podcast, "Wiser than Me".

Gasp. I don't know about you, but I was taught that that is a very rude question. But why?

My mother's response to the age question had always been a wink and twenty-nine. That was until I was 20. Then she was 39.

"Hold old do you feel?"

"Speaking of Willie Mays, I have a photo of him and me from my 1988 trip to SF Giants Fantasy Camp – both of us in our Giants uniforms. If you had told me when I was 9 or 10 that someday I would be in such a photo, I would have cried just from the thought of it."

For David, this photo is proof of a dream come true.

At 91 and the self-professed 'last one standing' Adele says, "I look at these photos on the walls and think…

"I did all the talking!"

We've just had a lively, lovely conversation and are saying our good-byes until next time. That's when it hits. She talked, I listened.

My job is to ask open-ended questions and let the client think aloud.

• What kind of neighborhood did you grow up in? 

• What kind of kid were you?

When I asked Bridget what kind of father her deceased husband was to their kids, she took a deep breath.

I've become very comfortable with the silent pauses. 

"Family members see each other at their best and when they're not at their best. Gary made a real effort to not be like his father, but we only have the first-hand models that we have."

Bridget's letter gave her a chance to explain Gary's complexities to her kids. 

Frank lives in a memory care residence. He's 84, has dementia and is delightful. He doesn't remember why we're having these conversations, but he's amenable. And when I asked about his father, he lights up.

"My father never said a word. Not a word. He spoke through his actions." 

At 91, Ann has a simple recipe for her ideal day. "The perfect day is when I wake up refreshed, get outside for some exercise and spend time with my husband."

Sounds like a lovely day. 

Then she said, "A perfect day is when I learn something -- about me or the people around me -- without judgement."

I had just finished reading Mitzi's letter to her. Pause. Then, "It's so warm and sounds just like me."

Pause. "But there's something that's not sitting right with me. Will you read it again?"

Where was I when my mother was packing up? 

My father had died. Ima had made the brave decision to move across the country. Now she just had to go through...an entire house!

Like most of our parents' homes, this one was filled with a lifetime of shared memories. 

My mother moved out to California about 9 years ago...two years after my father died. It was the right move. She and my father had actually wanted to move together. But that's another story.

The move made sense. And it was hard. Her life and the people in it were in New Jersey. 

But my mother, Irene, can be a rock when it matters most. She said, "I want to move while I'm active and can easily make friends."