Sick and Broken System, Part Two: Tell Your Loved Ones' Stories!

Part Two

Growing old in our society doesn't appear to me to be a happy reality — at least not unless you're blessed with really great genes, money and a super involved family, all at the same time.

Otherwise, old age will slap many of us in the face and betray our sense of who and what we are and who we thought we were.

Most of us tend to form our identities around the roles we hold in life: teacher, coach, dentist, doctor, lawyer, police officer, contractor, construction worker ... and mom, dad, sister, brother, daughter, son. We become artists, writers, musicians and entertainers. In fact, most of us wear many hats throughout our lives, and we often trade one hat for another.

Many of us also work hard to move through only identifying ourselves by what we do into who we are on the inside: child of God, kind, loving, intelligent, compassionate, etc.

So imagine reaching that nebulous age when people, places and institutions begin to treat us as nonpersons? As cattle to be herded. As too slow to wait for. As only the old man in room 131. As the little old lady who sobs alone in her wheelchair. As the blank face of a dementia-ravaged man.

As I've observed the older people in my mother's various living environments the past six months, I've repeatedly thought, "I wonder what his story is?" or "What was her life like?" I also wondered why many never or rarely had friends or family visitors.

I've thought, "Is this all there is? Is this how the story ends? Is everyone just forgotten?" And I've wondered whether these folks felt valued anymore or even recognized the importance of all they had offered and served in their lives. It surely didn't seem like it to me.


And then a cool thing happened for me during all of my questioning. On January 23, we celebrated my parents' 50th wedding anniversary. As I put together a huge photo album/memory book with cards and anecdotes about them from people in their lives, I watched their love story unfold; my heart melted. (Unfortunately, I also thought of Nicholas Sparks' stories. Ugh.)

Jan. 23, 1965

Through this experience, I began to appreciate my parents on a whole new level. I learned more about them and remembered so much of what we had been through as a family. I cried a lot and laughed a lot while putting this book together. This book and that process has helped me grieve my losses.

I also got to see my parents enjoy looking through the book and reminiscing about old times. My mother, who struggles with comprehension, lit up happily while looking at various pictures and hearing stories people shared about them. She has also cried when seeing the pictures because she understands she is losing my dad. But that is healthy grieving.

And as you know, I've been collecting stories about my dad from people in his life. These stories have shed so much light on who he is, and like with the anniversary book, I have gained a new appreciation for him and his personality. I see him as more than just my dad. I get to understand him in relation to others. Even better, Jordie and Cole will get to see it. And then some day, their kids can. And then their kids, and so on.

The best part of this project, however, has been seeing my dad touched by the stories everyone has shared. If he didn't fully know before that his life is important, he certainly must now! Thanks to you.

And so, because my parents are no more and no less important than anyone else — yet oh-so-special to my family — I've come to believe that ALL people need to experience this pleasure in their senior years.

As children, grandchildren, Godchildren and friends, we have the power to reflect to our loved ones and inspire ourselves — and even others — their valuable life stories. Collecting and sharing their stories also can start great conversations with them to perhaps learn even more details to record.

So, I encourage and challenge you.  Give your own loved ones this gift. What an honor and blessing for generations to come.

Most important, help your special ones finish their lives with a sense of importance and value. They deserve it.