As I stood near the casket at my dad’s viewing, people known and unknown pieced together fragments of his life. A pattern began to emerge of things he did to help others which I never knew.
One by one I heard things like: He bought my pig at the county 4H fair or One time I needed groceries and your dad paid for them, or He gave me a loan when I had nowhere to turn, He was such a kind man, He always made my day seem better.
While I didn’t know about the pig or the loan or the groceries, I did know he was a kind man.
Stories. Memories. Influence.
Sometimes when people pass, I realize that I didn't know them as well as I thought.
Why didn’t I know about my friend’s life growing up on the west coast?
Why didn’t I know what caused her divorce? Or what it was like to work for an airline?
Why didn’t I know more about another friend’s tour of Viet Nam?
Why didn’t I ask more about his faith journey? When did he come to know Jesus?
Why didn’t I stop to ask more questions? Why was I so distracted?
Stories emerge at visitations or funerals but are snuffed out for lack of details—a dead end. I’ve thought more about this, of late, as I was given the task of pulling some details together for a friend’s memorial service. As I thumbed through her pictures, questions arose, but there was no one to ask.
I wish I could ask her to tell me more, but that window has closed.
What if this week, we stopped to really listen to a few people who cross our paths? What if we offered the gift of genuine interest; tell me more. What if we gave even just a few minutes of undivided attention?
What stories would surface? I believe we would find a deeper connection. I think we would discover stories that surprise and delight us.
We might learn we live among heroes.
I enjoyed seeing you last Thursday. While you may be prevented from being a priest you are now a judge. And, against such things there is no law.
I'm naturally a nosey person. 😂 I love stories. And the stories we learn from the older generation are priceless. One of the things I made sure to do while my mother was living with us was to talk with her about the past. The times before I invaded her world. Her growing up days and the early days of her marriage with my daddy. As she grew older it seemed like her long-term memory was much better than her short-term memory and I totally took advantage of that. I also began to visit an assisted living facility through my church's outreach program. I met the most lovely lady named Margie. We became great friends. Our visits and talks are…
I had a very similar experience recently. I need to listen more and ask better questions.