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Why Bother Knowing Their Stories?

Stories

Our lives are comprised of events, episodes and anecdotes exclusive to us. Even growing up in the same family, sharing the same adventures, misadventures and tragedies, our stories vary simply because we are unique individuals.

For instance, my siblings and I shared the same tragedy; our dad’s suicide. But the tragedy interrupted and shaped our lives in different ways. 

At the time of our dad’s death, my siblings and I ranged in age from twenty-three to ten. 

My oldest brother, 23, was away at college. But, he took a semester off, came home to remodel the basement, turning it into a livable space for my other two brothers; ages 14 and 10. 

My oldest sister’s life was also interrupted. Four months into her new marriage, she faced an agonizing emotional battle; should I be faithful to my husband or faithful to my family? Should she return home and help or to stay put with her husband. 

Another sister, living in a different state, had just recently graduated from high school and secured a good job. But, she chose to relocate closer to home making herself available to help in whatever way she could. 

The rest of us, aged 15,14, 13 and 10 were dependent upon Mom. Though she went to work every day so we’d have food on the table, her silence, denial and emotional absence made it hard for us to live under the same roof with her.  

But, at the time, I did not know how the lives of my siblings were interrupted by Dad’s suicide. I didn’t know the emotional battles my siblings struggled with. I didn’t know that everyone else floundered alone in their grief. I only knew my story. 

Hearing Their Stories

It wasn’t until much later in life, after Dad had been long gone, after Mom was dead and buried and when most of us were over the age of fifty, when one of my sisters brought us all together for bi-monthly family conference calls she’d dubbed the Macek Maverick Calls. 

These phone calls have given us the opportunity to tell our untold stories, to fill in those blanks that made up the years of not communicating with one another. 

Now I know more of their stories. I know how they survived Dad’s suicide, I know their wrestling matches with emotions and the residue of their grief and anguish. 

I know their stories better and knowing their stories better, I know them better. I wasn’t the only one left alone to flounder in my grief. We all floundered. 

Why Bother?

Why bother knowing their story? Knowing one another’s stories, adventures, misadventures and tragedies makes us transparent. It also gives others more insight into our lives. With that insight, grows respect, fond affection and heart-to-heart connections. We discover that we are not the only ones who flounder. 

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