They were young when they married. (As in, younger than I was, and I was only 20.)
Growing up, I always thought of her early life as a Cinderella story. Her mother died in childbirth, and life with her stepmother was not what a mother would hope for, for her daughter.
Cheren’s life began when she married my dashing grandfather.
Together they raised three children. She learned to drive the boat while he water skied behind her. (She never did learn to swim.) They traveled the world hand in hand, from Mexico City to Israel to the Taj Majal. Until her last days, she rode on the backseat of his Harley, her ever-blond hair tucked neatly into a scarf.
I’ll remember her. I have no doubt.
But will my children know of her?
A love story like theirs deserves to be remembered. A woman like this—who lived as much in one lifetime as most people would in three—deserves to be passed on.
Stop by tomorrow to see our new family tradition for the holidays!
Update! You can read part 2 here.