My husband was the oldest of 8 children. His mother passed 3 years ago at the age of 95. He will be 79 next week and experiences such melancholy when he thinks of all the memories he and his mother shared which now only belong to him. He’s always been a storyteller but now he shares his memories with a certain urgency. Over and over, he says only my mother and I knew this or the only other person who had this memory was my mother and when I’m gone, the memory dies with me.
That is exactly why storytelling is so important to our identities, and it’s quickly becoming a lost art. When families once sat during the quiet relaxation of evening and shared stories, memories, family history, and lore, we now watch TV, if we gather together at all.