Who Holds Your Story?
This week I have been thinking about these words describing what is lost when a loved one dies.
I shared them in this space years ago when talking about the parts of my story lost when my buddy, Kristi, died too young.
This week I have been thinking of my mother and the memories we shared together. I miss her. I know she took many of our memories with her that I relied on her to tell me. A joy at my Mom’s funeral visitation was a visit from a dear friend I have not seen in years. He came and shared memories of my Mom driving us to and from jr high and high school activities, bringing us food, and being in the audience at all our performances. These were times I had not thought about in years. He came and shared Mom’s story with me, and it meant so much.
Also, this week I have been thinking about losing our stories in relation to changes in our lives. When we move, change jobs, a coworker changes jobs, finish school, end a relationship, etc. all of these are times when we lose a part of our story. While these changes are not as final as the death of a loved one, most of us only rarely or occasionally take the time to share stories with others when we have moved on.
Because of all the changes that happen in our lives, parts of our story exist in so many different people and places. Today I am thinking of my loved ones who shared my story and whose stories I must pass along because they no longer can tell them. I am thinking of church families in churches where I worshipped and served. I am thinking of neighbors in places I no longer live. I am thinking of educators and classmates who taught me and learned with me. I am thinking of coworkers in jobs I have left and those who have left this job I love. I am thinking of my family and friends near and far who have walked this journey with me. I am missing all of you and holding all our stories in my heart.
These stories, the ones I remember and the ones others must remind me of and the ones only remembered by others, make me who I am today. I am thankful that while some of these stories may never be told out loud again I am living them in the choices I make and the person I am. Thank you all for holding a piece of my story.
