The power and value of personal storytelling was brought to front and center last winter when my mom passed away. I suspect this sort of thing happens in many families as a loved one is lost, services are planned, and boxes of pictures and "stuff" are gone through. The healing power of telling stories, laughing and crying and remembering things about her we hadn't thought of in years, was truly amazing.
It started with my two sisters and two brothers and I just talking about Mom and sharing memories of better times before the cancer came. These little stories helped us remember a feistier Mom, not the tired, worn out one we saw slip away. We remembered the crabby mom who seemed difficult for us to deal with most of the time, but who did her best to keep the five of us in line. Widowed at 35 years old, with five kids under the age of 15, she had her hands full. Through the storytelling, we all came to the realization that we were the reason for a lot of her crabbiness. We laughed over all those times we made her so mad, amazed that she had gotten through it without killing any of us, amazed at our own dense selves for doing what we had done. I gained a new appreciation of her crabbiness, when seen in this new light.
The shared storytelling with my siblings brought us closer together and helped each of us cope with our grief in our own way. I can't imagine that we'd have dealt with this loss in any other way than through telling our stories. It's that idea that makes me think this is how ALL families must process grief. But is it? Was I just lucky to be born into a family of storytellers or is this the universal power and value of storytelling that is out there for the taking? Maybe a little of both.
Leave a Reply