Most psychologists believe that in order to move on after a loss, we need to say goodbye first. I never believed that, even when I was a practicing psychotherapist. But I didn't impose my opinion on my patients. Who could possibly know what's best for someone when it comes to losing a loved one?

Helen Keller wrote, "What we once enjoyed and deeply loved we can never lose. For all that we love deeply becomes a part of us."

The subject of loss came up when I sold all my possessions that had any worth. Like many people, I'm having money problems. It's OK. Things are just things. Psychiatrist Bill Hallstein once said to me, "We don't own anything. We just borrow it while we're here."

However, I felt a profound sense of sadness when I sold one particular item.

My favorite aunt died in her 30s. She left me her beautiful cameo ring. I wore it all the time. It symbolized a loving connection with this woman of many wonders.

Helene Kassen was a lover of life. People in my conservative family made fun of her behind her back by calling her a farmer. She dressed the way she wanted, wearing long, flowing plaid skirts when tailored suits were the style. She'd laugh heartily with her head thrown way back. She'd sit on the floor with her legs never demurely placed.

If there were rules that she considered pointless, she did not follow them. Uncomfortable high heels? Forget it. Blouses fitted and tight? Nope. Plates that match for a dinner party? Never. Putting on sophisticated airs to meet other people's standards? No way.

Though it was customary to be addressed as "aunt," Helene wanted me to call her by her first name. I could talk about anything with her, without feeling judged.

She gave her cameo to me on her last day, while I was sitting on her hospital bed. Barely able to speak, she whispered, "This is my favorite ring. I want my favorite young woman to have it."

"I will always wear it and cherish it," I said, tearfully. "Just like I will always cherish you." I gently lifted her head so she could sip a little water. Her lips were so dry. While she sipped, I kissed her forehead.

The cameo embodied our extraordinary bond. And now it is gone.

While talking with my dear friend Nancy, I cried when I explained I had sold the cameo. "Helene would be so disappointed in me that I sold her treasured ring."

Nancy helped me enormously. "Helene loved you. She never judged you. And she wouldn't now. She'd be so happy knowing that she is helping you." She added, "Your bond with this incredible woman still exists, whether you're wearing her ring or not."

Because of Nancy, I realized that there is nothing that will ever, ever take away my years with Helene. Those years remain. They cannot be erased. She is an essential part of my history. And our histories make us who we are today.

Selling a ring cannot sever an everlasting bond. Helene has taught me and will continue to teach me how to live. I am the person that I am today because of her. She is a part of me and always will be.

I often ask myself, "What would Helene advise?" Her answers would be wise, warm and accepting. I can hear her saying, "If you spend today upset about something that may or may not happen tomorrow, then you've lost all of today."

She still guides me by saying, "Who cares?" to many situations where others' opinions truly don't matter. Her corporeal being is no longer on this earth, but her emotional being is still here.

Now, I'm not sure if the following is a coincidence or not.

Nancy and I get together for what we call "floor parties." I can talk about anything with her, without feeling judged. She is wise, warm and accepting.

When I walk in her door, I take off my shoes, toss my coat somewhere and lay around on the floor with her while we dig into turkey, lettuce and tomato subs. No plates. The wrappers the subs come in do the trick. We usually drip tomato juice on our clothes. But we don't care. We're not wearing what's in style. We're wearing loose, comfy clothes.

Nancy wears what she wants. High heels? Forget it. Blouses fitted and tight? Nope. Would Nancy put on sophisticated airs to meet other people's standards? No way.

The night after I shipped the ring, I sat alone, closed my eyes and said, "Thank you, Nancy, for helping me see that my connection with Helene is alive. Thank you, Helene, for helping me pay my bills. I will never say goodbye to you because you will always be a part of me. Thank you for blessing my life."

And so, as I see it now, Helene's presence is with me, in my personality, my outlook, my choices ... and in Nancy.