[Part 1 of 3] Seeing the sacred at my dad’s funeral…

I love to tell my yoga students: “Everything is only as sacred as you make it.”
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And every detail of my dad’s funeral earlier this month held deep meaning for our family… from the Egg McMuffins my brother and I got for breakfast (Dad’s bribe of choice to get us to Sunday School growing up), to this toast with frothy green drinks at the post-funeral celebration:

(And yes, the same frothy green drinks shown in the old photo of Dad at the top of this email)


The “Green Drink Party” was as sacred as it gets to the Shambeau family. This tradition began long before my dad took it over in the 80s.


My grandparents, Dave and Emilene used to serve this frothy mint-green concoction every Christmas morning (pictured below in 1973) at a gathering that could ebb and flow from a casual crew one year to a rambunctious party the next.

I remember Christmas morning so fondly from my childhood — before I was old enough to try the drink myself, and of course after I’d turned 21 and could indulge.


Although if you knew the true recipe, you know full well that even a half glass was more than enough. I don’t have the exact recipe on hand, but I know what usually went into the blender was: Ice, heavy whipping cream, Crème de menthe, and another sneaky liquor I can’t recall.



Laugher and conversation over green drinks and deviled eggs will forever be a core memory.


And, the most special part is knowing that Mom and Dad first locked eyes at a Green Drink party at Dad’s house on Christmas Day, 1984. From his spot at the kitchen window, he watched my mom step out of her parent’s car in the driveway, wearing a mint green sweater, and instructed his friend Tom Karavakis to “follow that girl” and find out if she was seeing someone!


Although he served Mom a green drink and some small talk, they didn’t connect much at the party aside from the sparks they both felt — and I’m not exaggerating! They both remember an instant connection.

(Below is a pic of the two of them, during that first week together)

At 5pm that day, Dad called Mom’s parents’ house and asked her out on a date. A week or so later? They were engaged… just like that.


I feel so fortunate to have deep love and partnership modeled for me in my life. To watch that love transcend disease and death was both gut-wrenching and beautiful at the same time.


(Below, my brother Matt, Mom and I after spreading some of Dad’s ashes together in a place that was special to all of us)

I would wish my Dad back in a heartbeat if I could... but somehow I’ve found gratitude this past month, honoring his life, his stories, and his deep love for Mom, and for our family.



I know that’s a gift, and I won’t take it for granted.



I am going to send y’all two more emails this week — one that details with all the ways I used yoga to help me through the funeral, and the other is where I’ll share the eulogy I gave for Dad. It was filled with nuggets of his wisdom and I would be remiss if I didn’t share it, far and wide.


In the meantime, if you want to read a few other stories I’ve written about Dad throughout his journey with Alzheimers, here are a few memorable ones:

• 10/2023—  My dad (the yogi) travels light
  
• 7/2022— 3 part series - Part 1: Sharing my whole spiritual journey
  
• 7/2022— 3 part series - Part 2: Is this really it?
  
• 7/2022— 3 part series - Part 3: I found what I was looking for
  
• 4/2021— Some things are too personal for social media…
  

Until (part 2) tomorrow,
Mollie