Livani is the Greek word for Frankincense. It is commonly burnt for its fragrance during religious ceremonies. I used to follow behind Yia Yia’s swishing skirt during her daily pilgrimage through the apartment, a witness to her steady act of devotion. But I hadn’t thought about Livani in years…

***

This past summer we booked a trip to Greece on a whim, with three weeks to spare. I blame it on therapy. It was my second kick at the EMDR can, a somatic technique where you take an inventory of your life, look for memories that still have an emotional or physical charge and seek to release the residue (often associated with a limiting belief).

I wasn’t feeling much emotion around memories that should have been upsetting. But when I remembered the glory days at Yia Yia’s house, causing all kinds of mischief, I cried like a baby. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt so safe, so wild and so free…

***

My entire family was traveling to Greece that summer, with my parents tossing their hat in the ring late in the game. But Vito and I were holding out. After all, I thought I would be pregnant or actively trying for a baby by then, so I didn’t dare dream of Greece. We tried to compensate with an extended work trip to Vancouver but came up empty handed. And suddenly the pieces fell into place.

• We could carpool with my parents to the village!
• Vito proposed in Kalamata five years ago, what timing!
• The trip would overlap with my parents wedding anniversary and ours!

Plus, I’d still not visited Yia Yia’s grave and we needed someone to show us the way. When might we all be down here again with the unpredictability of pandemics, the economy and life at large?

Feeling freshly engaged in Kalamata, five years later

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Upon arrival in Kalamata, I felt Yia Yia in the wind and ocean waves. Saw her smiling through rays of sun. Imagined she was every butterfly that crossed out path and every bite of pizza. Imagined her coaxing the moon out of the mountains in the darkening, olive-treed hilltop where mom was born.

We stumbled on a dreamy flower shop en route to the cemetery so we could honour her properly. I finally felt the weight of her passing in front of that giant granite slab. Through the fragrant swirls of Livani, I looked for an obvious sign of her presence but was left with tears instead.

Pilgrimage to the village in honour of Yia Yia

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Once we escaped some painfully familiar family dynamics for solo time in Mykonos, I felt her presence less. But the sun, ocean, epic patio bars, sunsets and friendly encounters with strangers temporarily revived me from feeling half-alive and ever striving. It made the pandemic and my stressful job feel very far away. For the first time in a long time, I felt free again.

Rented a car against mom’s wishes – wild and free in Mykonos

Two weeks later, as we sat on the plane waiting for takeoff, tears streamed down my face. I watched the signature sandy mountains whip by and get smaller. I was leaving Her again and the feeling of “home” that I had finally found after all these years in the Motherland.

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When we were still in Kalamata, I heard the wind whisper: “This will be your last childless trip. Enjoy it.” I wondered whether Yia Yia would bless us with a baby upon our return, despite my fears. After all, that’s all She ever wanted. So I bought some Livani in her honour. To carry on the tradition and have her memory burn brightly in every room of our home.

Editor’s Note: this post was originally written in September 2022

Livani and the remote Western Kapari Beach at sunset in Mykonos Greece

So tell me, do you have any rituals that remind you of loved ones who have passed? And where in the world do you feel the most free?