Pat Livelsberger and her husband, Patrick, work on new soap orders in their basement workshop.
Written By Lisa Breslin, Photos by: Phil Grout
When Patricia Livelsberger’s son, JJ, died at the age of 23, she missed everything about him, especially the smell of baby powder that she and her husband used on his skin.
JJ’s life was far from perfect: he was born with cerebral palsy and profound retardation. He essentially saw and tackled the world with the abilities of a 2-month-old. Despite his disability, his parents regarded him as a gift.
Years after JJ died, grief still permeated Pat’s life. She never expected the distinct smell of baby powder to turn her grief around.
Joy briefly replaced grief one afternoon at the home of her sister-in-law, Theresa Eline. The friends were making soap and Pat remembers that the process itself was soothing. As Pat added fragrance of baby oil, she cried, and she knew she did not have to let go. She could remember JJ, celebrate his life and still move forward.
That discovery is the foundation for Pat Livelsberger’s Westminster-based cottage business, Sentimental Soaps. For years, Pat and her husband, Patrick, have talked to people about their loved ones and captured those memories in personalized soaps; personalized right down to the packaging.
Patricia, who says that she adds the olfactory elements to Sentimental Soaps while her husband infuses practicality into the business, interviews clients to capture their favorite memories linked to the person or the event for which soap is purchased.
“I want people to feel good when they use the soap,” she explained. “I want them to feel so good that they share it. It should be a celebration, which is an important bridge in the grieving process.”
Soaps are sold with narratives about the person or event that inspired their creation.
The narrative for Dad’s Walnut Soap, for example, states, “Chapstick, woods, poison ivy, fishing, hunting, squirrels, beagles, cats, practical joker, loyal friend, loving parent, Brylcreme, nuts and orangesÉ How can I capture the essence of my Dad? He was all these things and more.”
“We finally decided to use walnut powder to capture his youth and love for the outdoors, herbs to symbolize a poison ivy catastrophe while hunting…. rosemary to capture the Brylcreme and camphor for the Chapstick.”
Dad’s Walnut Soap is packaged with equal lengths of raffia and ribbon – both nods to the fact that Dad loved to dress down but dressed up beautifully.
“I love seeing the emotions that are linked to memories evoked by the soaps,” said Patricia. “I know that the owners are celebrating and every time I see that, it’s touching.”
The Livelsberger’s take pride in making soaps the old-fashioned way. Their recipe includes olive oil, coconut oil, palm oil and tallow. Every bar contains a butter, such as shea, cocoa or mango. Essential oils are used for the scents – and each bar also contains additional oils like evening primrose, jojoba, castor or sweet almond.
After soaps have thickened, they are poured into boxes until the chemical reactions are complete, which usually takes about three days. Then soaps are cut into individual bars and placed on a shelf to dry for approximately four weeks.
“When I walk into an Italian grocery that smells of pasta sauce simmering and bread baking, I think of my grandparents’ kitchen and meals with family,” said Diane Vaccaro, who frequently purchases Sentimental Soaps. “This is different than when I smell fresh laundry hung on a clothesline and crisp fresh air, because these smells make me think of my grandfather and his hugs.”
“It’s a more intimate aroma because it involved being close enough to the person to smell their skin and clothing,” Vaccaro added. “ I like that the soap can evoke a personal memory of the person.”
Patricia volunteers with Hospice ventures, and Sentimental Soaps are given to grieving church families in the area. The Livelsberger’s are dedicated to helping others celebrate memories of their loved ones.
“All of this journey continues to show me that grief may never be over,” Patricia said. “It’s not a defined point like a finish line. The key is to get to a point where you realize that remembering someone or thinking of them and tearing up is a gift.”
