It was the summer of 2006. One of the hardest summers of my life. The man who taught me how to sing with my heart was no longer able to sing. I sat next to him and sang him lullabies as he slept in peace. That summer I was asked to sing at Medjugorje Youth Festival. it’s one religious gathering that resonates in my heart as open and wide as the spirit of a soul can be – with tens of thousands of young people from many different countries coming together in prayer and meditation. Drug addicts, who are trying to heal; orphans and lonely teenagers; those who belong and those who are searching; all on a journey without judgment, without expectations or fear. I was looking for a song I’d sing at the festival for my father – it was a perfect opportunity to loose myself in the power of prayer. Few weeks prior to the Medjugorje Youth Festival I went to visit my two great-aunts (from my father’s side) Mitzi and Stefi in Trieste, Italy. They are both short, but feisty women full of life, passion and tremendous (and very contagious) energy. I walked into a bookstore run by some order of Nuns and picked up a book of Italian religious music. I looked at “Dell’Aurora tu sorgi piu bella”, hummed a few measures to myself and bought the book. I had the perfect song to sing at the festival. It brought up memories of my Dad singing Italian songs and melting hearts. This year, my mom spent five months with me and my boys. She fell in love with the song that stirred the passion of her lost love. I promised her I would record it, so she can listen to it when she is in Zagreb, some 3,000 miles away. Now, I dedicate it to my Italian aunts (still going strong) and their sister, my grandmother “Nana” – Antonia (who passed away in 2000). Nana had lived with us; cooked the best, and very healthy northern Italian meals; had refused to teach me Italian for fear of teaching me the Triestino dialect and ruining my chances to learn the proper Italian; who did teach me to always look my best, have a piece of hard candy in my purse and eat till I’m almost full; but also to have a small glass of wine every day (‘water is for frogs’, she would say) and sing with my lungs filled with passion. (I do hope I can teach my kids to never be afraid of a passionate heart.)