It's difficult to grasp the loss in words. Maybe it is a broken prayer said in silence when you hardly recall the following words and verses. She once taught you so many of them, now you can hardly recall one. Will I ever be able to teach my children or grandchildren one of those prayers? I ask myself. Maybe it is the silence of your home on that day. Maybe it is the childhood memory of the bunches of flowers and chocolate boxes on the piano cover. Maybe it is the omnipresent smell of lilacs...
My grandma, my mother and I, we were nameplates. Maybe that was the reason why our name-day was so greatly celebrated. On the other hand, you could also say it was a tradition. A family tradition. A tradition in general. A tradition of the name that fades away. The name transferred from generation to generation. A name like a family jewel. More precious than all the material heritage. Though, it is so easy to ignore it. After all, you cannot grasp tradition in a blink of an eye. You cannot close it in a box. Finally, you cannot buy it.
When I told my friend from Ukraine that people celebrate name-day in Poland, he was greatly surprised and found the idea at least bizarre. For me it was obvious that name-day is important, but today, looking from a perspective of time, I began to wonder whether it is still true in my case. I miss it and I grief upon it, but I do not know how to save the tradition. I do not know whether it can be the same as before without my grandma. Obviously, something definitely died with the personage of my grandma. Is there anything of her aura left in my mother or me? Any of the magnetism that gathered so many people around our family house once? Finally, will I do justice to family tradition and make my daughter my nameplate? Actually, I believe that the name you carry has a great influence on your life. Too great. Especially, if you carry the same name as your mother does and your grandma did.