Telling
Tales
“I hope
you will go out and let stories happen to you, and that you will work
them, water them with your blood and tears and your laughter till
they bloom, till you yourself burst into bloom.”
Clarissa
Pinkola Estes
Well, my sweet Aunt Lane
finally allowed the angels and saints to carry her away on Friday.
She went into hospice on May 21st, ostensibly to die
within a few days, but she got rejuvenated by the stories her
children told as they sat at her bedside, and decided she wanted to
hear more. So, she stuck around for five and half months banking up
stories, correcting her offspring when she needed to, making sure
they got the details straight. That's one of the best things that
happens when a loved one is dying—everybody uses that idle, waiting
time to tell stories, and all of them are different. Stories are our
life-blood, they keep us glued together. We need to share them to
remember how we got to be who we are, even when they are painful, but
especially when they make us laugh.
I think the laughter of
children and grandchildren when recounting the old family stories is
music to a dying person's ears. It gives them confidence that they
did not participate in the creation of some truly angry and messed up
people, that those whom they love are going to stick together and
support one another when they're gone. It gives them the freedom to
let go and let God, so to speak. It also helps the family left behind
realize how much history they share, and how important they are to
one another.
But you don't have to be
dying to appreciate a good story, or to have a deep need to tell your
own. Brothers and sisters, cousins and friends, colleagues and
cohorts bond around their shared stories. When we tell a story, we
reveal ourselves in ways we don't under other circumstances. We move
information into an open space, so that others around us can see it.
To be sure, too much information is shared at times, but revealing
our memory stories helps us to realize that we do, indeed, have a beating heart,
and so do others. One never knows what another person is carrying
around in the way of history and experience until they tell it in a
story. That changes our perception of them.
Don't wait till someone
is dying to get their stories, or to share your own. Let down your
ego defenses, and allow someone you trust to know exactly who you
are, and how you got to be you. Heart connections water our stories
into full bloom. Goodbye to Aunt Lane—I miss her already, but we'll
keep telling tales about her and laughing.
In the Spirit,
Jane
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