Sign up to save your podcasts
Or
Share A Gift from the Past: A Moment of Healing
Share to email
Share to Facebook
Share to X
Share to email
Share to Facebook
Share to X
Or
A Gift from the Past: A Moment of Healing
For 25 years, I carried a quiet sorrow, a lingering grief, and a deep regret. When I became homeless, so much was lost—among those things was a VHS tape we recorded in February 1999 for my grandparents’ 50th anniversary. That tape held something priceless: my mother, alive, speaking, moving. The last living memory of her.
Back then, we didn’t have cell phones to capture every moment, but we had that video—a moment frozen in time. And then, it was gone. Along with so many of my mother’s valuables, that tape disappeared, and with it, the last piece of her that I could see and hear.
For years, I carried the weight of that loss, not just mourning her absence but feeling anger—at the world, at circumstances, at myself. I held onto that pain, believing that moment was lost forever.
And then, something incredible happened.
A family member was cleaning out storage and found a VHS tape. They gave it to my sister, Willamina, who did everything she could to watch it but had no VCR. By some miracle, another family member had one. They played the tape, and my niece recorded it on her phone.
Last night, after 25 years, I saw my mother again.
I saw her smile. I heard her voice. I watched her laugh. And for the first time, my children saw their grandmother—not just in stories but in motion, alive and full of love.
I saw my father, young and strong, before time and illness took their toll. And then I realized—my mother was 45 years old in that video. This year, I turn 45.
I cried harder than I have in years, not from sadness, but from overwhelming joy. A piece of my heart that had been missing was suddenly found. And with it, I felt a burden lift—a release of pain I had carried for so long.
I am grateful beyond words, and I want to thank my sister Willamina for making this moment possible. Without her determination and love, I wouldn’t have had this gift—this miracle.
I feel renewed. I feel at peace. And for the first time in a long time, I feel whole.
Mom, Dad—you are still here. And I will carry this moment with me forever.
My was 45 in February 1999 and passed away at 46 on April 27, 2000.
View all episodes
By Fanny Gerloven Chico, MBA
5
44 ratings
For 25 years, I carried a quiet sorrow, a lingering grief, and a deep regret. When I became homeless, so much was lost—among those things was a VHS tape we recorded in February 1999 for my grandparents’ 50th anniversary. That tape held something priceless: my mother, alive, speaking, moving. The last living memory of her.
Back then, we didn’t have cell phones to capture every moment, but we had that video—a moment frozen in time. And then, it was gone. Along with so many of my mother’s valuables, that tape disappeared, and with it, the last piece of her that I could see and hear.
For years, I carried the weight of that loss, not just mourning her absence but feeling anger—at the world, at circumstances, at myself. I held onto that pain, believing that moment was lost forever.
And then, something incredible happened.
A family member was cleaning out storage and found a VHS tape. They gave it to my sister, Willamina, who did everything she could to watch it but had no VCR. By some miracle, another family member had one. They played the tape, and my niece recorded it on her phone.
Last night, after 25 years, I saw my mother again.
I saw her smile. I heard her voice. I watched her laugh. And for the first time, my children saw their grandmother—not just in stories but in motion, alive and full of love.
I saw my father, young and strong, before time and illness took their toll. And then I realized—my mother was 45 years old in that video. This year, I turn 45.
I cried harder than I have in years, not from sadness, but from overwhelming joy. A piece of my heart that had been missing was suddenly found. And with it, I felt a burden lift—a release of pain I had carried for so long.
I am grateful beyond words, and I want to thank my sister Willamina for making this moment possible. Without her determination and love, I wouldn’t have had this gift—this miracle.
I feel renewed. I feel at peace. And for the first time in a long time, I feel whole.
Mom, Dad—you are still here. And I will carry this moment with me forever.
My was 45 in February 1999 and passed away at 46 on April 27, 2000.