Stories

I enjoy hearing people's life stories.  My family teases me that no matter where I go I make new friends and learn their life stories.  Really all I do is ask questions and then listen.  It usually starts out with a mutual smile or a look and some superficial comment about the weather or the line we are standing in.  That usually opens the door and soon they are sharing a part of themselves with me.  Often, I hear, "I've never told anyone this, but...." or "I don't know why I'm telling you this, but..."  I think they tell me because I am willing to stop and listen.

The other day, I was at the pharmacy waiting for a prescription to be filled when an older gentleman came to the counter to drop off his prescription.  He sat next to me while we waited.  He had just been told that he had diabetes and would have to give himself insulin shots.  He said he was a bit apprehensive since he would have to give himself the shots in his stomach, but that he supposed he would handle it just fine.  He began to tell me about his children; he has nine, "all from the same wife and marriage."  He told me of his life as a boy at a Catholic boarding school and his five friends who were with him all his years there.  He spoke so tenderly and lovingly of the priests and nuns and how much he loved his life there.  He said he didn't want to leave when he graduated; they had become family.  He also told me about the worst day of his life.  It was the day he was coming back from his 4th tour in Vietnam.  He and a fellow soldier were walking from their gate when someone spit on them, saying obscene things to them because of their service.  He eyes told of the pain and sadness that was still present because of that day.

At one point my thoughts went to the errands I had planned to run after the pharmacy.  As the pharmacist called my name, I knew I had a choice to make; stay to listen a little while longer or politely excuse myself.  I chose to stay....the grocery store could wait that day.  I am so glad I did.

He talked more about his life, his experiences, the accomplishments of his children, and the stomach cancer he had endured.  I did eventually leave.  I had to start my afternoon taxi service of picking up kids from school.  I hugged him and thanked him for sharing his story.  He thanked me for listening. 

I may never see this man again, yet his story will stay with me and has now become a part of my story. We all have stories to tell and mostly, we want to tell them.  Amazing things happen when we do. We just need someone to listen.  As the story teller, we get to remember events and people from our lives, share them with someone, and pass on the wisdom we have gained.  As the listener we hear of other's struggles and success, their experiences, and gain insight into their lives.  We discover our commonalities as frail, broken people who are trying to do the best we can with the lives that we have been given.  The sharing of these stories connect us to each other, and isn't that how God intended it to be.