If you're having trouble trying to come up with the perfect gift for your children this year, I have an idea. Write or record an Ethical Will. What's that? A letter (written or spoken) to your loved one ... telling him or her all the things you would say if you knew this were your last chance. Because it is. That's the point. You're saying it now, before it's too late, and so that when the time comes, your child will have something tangible from you to take comfort in.

A woman I've known for several years told me the other day that she has written several letters to each of her daughters (ages 8 and 10). Why? Because she'll never forget the day she came home after her mother passed away suddenly ... and she spent hours ransacking the house looking for something her mother left for her. A letter? A note? 

"She must have left me something," she thought. Even now, almost 20 years later, she throws her hands into the air as she says, "There was nothing. I had nothing."

So every couple of years, she writes her daughters a letter. "I tell them all the things I want them to know about how they've impacted my life, how much I love them, and what I want them to carry with them as they walk through each stage of their life," she said.

And these letters don't just sit in a drawer, they are part of their everyday lives. Bringing them closer ... in the moment. "The girls are always asking me to read them aloud," she laughed. "Even at the dinner table." 

We all have grandiose ideas of placing handmade gifts under the tree that would make Martha Stewart proud. But instead of knitting a scarf or feeling guilty because you didn't, why not give your son or daughter something heart-made, instead? Take an hour to sit down with a pen and paper and create something that will be treasured today and for years to come. 

I met a woman this fall who said to me, "I have some things I need to say to my children, but I don't know what they are." Her face was slightly strained as she leaned forward in her chair, with a clear sense of urgency in her voice. 

Mary* is 82 years old. Healthy, active, still going to work every day. But she's keenly aware that time slips by and can catch us unprepared and unready to say goodbye.

So over the course of a couple of days, and 2-3 hours of interview, we navigated our way through the things that needed to be said. This is going to be Mary's Christmas gift to her children and grandchildren this year.

What makes Mary's oral memoir different from others is that instead of focusing on the stories of her life, we zeroed in on the values, principles, and beliefs that shaped the stories. This is what some people call an "Ethical Will," the values not the valuables. When you share with your loved ones who you are from the inside out, giving them something real and lasting about who you are and what you believe — to hang on to.  

At the end of the first session, Mary stood up and touched her shoulders with the palms of her hands, "I feel lighter," she said. And she looked relieved. Finally, her feelings and thoughts were taking shape, turning into something tangible with every recorded minute ... something that she would be able to pass on to current and future generations of her family.

I felt good, too, knowing that we were getting there ... one question at a time. 

There are limitless ways to preserve our memories, the story of our lives. It's a matter of picking the method that works for you and that fits naturally into your life.


I've been struggling lately with my lack of focus in taking down the everyday memories and moments of my children as they've grown. The funny things they say. The adventures we share together. I feel like I'm keeping a running tally in my head — that I quiz myself on regularly — of the entertaining things my kids have said .... struggling to keep them straight in my mind until that perfect moment when I can sit down and log them in their baby books. 

But time passes, even just a week, and I strain to keep the memory fresh. It's lost in the constant motion of my mind.


And so it is with parents of all ages, I find. We have so much going on in the busyness of raising children that we have a hard time holding on to yesterday's memories. They get pushed aside to make room for today ... and eventually tomorrow.


But after viewing a movie created over the past few years by a father striving to capture the memories of his little boy's childhood, I am wondering if preserving the experience of parenthood - the mental snapshots of those everyday moments - is perhaps more important than the details, themselves. 


Sure, I aim to be more disciplined about keeping up with my kids' baby books. But maybe I can let myself off the hook a little and come up with a "memorycatcher" that works better for me. Maybe it's a letter to each of my children, or a collection of photos from our times together along with a story for each. 


Jeff Scher's film of his son is worth a watch. He doesn't catch all the details ... but he captures just enough for he and his son — and anyone else who shares in one father's snapshot of time — to experience the story.