We are natural story tellers. We tell our tales around the kitchen table, with grand gestures that make people laugh or in halting, toneless stammers. Every person recounts something, little or big, how the grocery shopping went, how they lived their life. It’s all a story to be told. Children’s tales of adventure, adult tales of woe, young dreams of success, weave themselves into a tapestry of stories that create our life.
Everyone has a story. You may not agree with it, or appreciate it, but it’s there. Some where under the heavy weight of day to day life there’s a dream that makes a tale. Sitting on worn couches, in rooms with the hiss and beep of medical equipment, resting on trees older than you are, it doesn’t matter where you are, you recognize the story – the life song of a person.
But all stories must end. Songs may linger, but melodies always fade. Immortality comes in the telling of the tale. The smell of coffee, the laughter of people who never knew you, the worn hands recreating your gestures, they all keep you alive. It’s the stories that keep the people we love alive, and I’m glad to have the tales to tell.