Personal storytelling is about both the story and what it means to you. Story Coach lessons help you find stories, present them in a compelling way, and discover what they really mean.[twocol_one]The layouts and stories below came out of the prompts and writing guide in Story Coach #2. The assignment: Consider a time when you’ve gotten news about someone who was (but no longer is) a regular and an important part of your life.
Perhaps a coach has gone on to great success, a boss has died, a best friend got divorced, an old employee got promoted, an ex was involved in a great success or a great scandal, your grown child’s kindergarten friend made the news or something else.
More than telling that outwardly obvious story, discover what it really means to you and what personal beliefs come out of this discovery.
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news of a sister
Carrie Arick says, “With the Story Coach ‘News of You’ class, I told the story of learning my then estranged, Mette, was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor. I followed the guide almost to the letter. I found Story Coach really helped me to keep my thoughts organized, which is something I struggle with.”
“The example story pieces in the class were extremely helpful in figuring out how to keep my story flowing and meaningful. As I wrote I realized the huge lesson I had learned from Mette: a lesson about letting people be who they are, not who you want them. It was definitely an ‘aha’ moment that I had not expected. The end result is having an incredibly meaningful story archived.”
[toggle title_open=”hide journaling” title_closed=”read journaling” hide=”yes” border=”yes” style=”default” ]Carrie’s Journaling:The news of Mette’s brain cancer came on an ordinary day. I was in the midst of my daily chores before heading off to my evening shift at the restaurant. I was washing up the little plastic bee plate and brightly colored tumbler that held Matt’s lunch when phone my cell rang.
I sighed, drying my hands on sunshine yellow dish towel by the sink. I turned slowly, not feeling any urge to answer the trilling contraption. I am not a fan of the phone or being interrupted in my precious time with my son before a grueling evening of waiting tables, solving crises and ensuring the chaos of a busy restaurant was never felt, seen or heard by its patrons. The hours the work demanded meant too much time away from home and the phone reminded me my ambition was a mixed blessing. I was excited to have the new challenge, but I was struggling for balance between motherhood and career.
Flipping open the phone, the caller ID displayed my mom’s phone number. Relieved, I pressed talk, put the phone to my ear and said, “Hello, Mom.”
“Are you sitting down?” my mom asked. Why do people ask that? I wondered, when delivering bad news. The question itself is an indicator that the rug is about to pulled out from under you emotionally and your physically position is no help for that fall.
“Sure,” I lied. I walked into the living room where my son was busy playing with some trains.
“Mette has brain cancer,” my mom stated matter-of-factly. I’m sure she had more emotion when she reported it to my other sisters. She must be rather numb by now. Since I’m the youngest daughter, I’m last on the family news-list.
Mette is the eldest sister, ten years my senior; she was the golden child. I was the black sheep of the family, often misunderstood by everyone. She met me where I was, not where she thought I should be. Mette was a ray of light in my world on the cloudiest of days so often that at times I wished she was my mother. When I last saw her she was battling alcoholism, dealing in the dysfunction living in our other sister’s home. I had just had a baby, on my own, struggling to make life work. I didn’t realize our last meeting was more than her visiting with my newborn son. I didn’t realize she was saying goodbye forever.
I’d thought, as time passed and I stabilized my life that I should reach out. Yet, I was accustomed to her absence.
Questions swirled quickly in my head: I didn’t know how to respond to the news that she had cancer. What does that mean? Did this mean she’d be a part our life again? What can they do for her? Do I call her? What is an appropriate response? Will my son meet her before she dies?
The only one that managed to escape my mouth was “how long do they think she’ll live?”
“They think maybe months, maybe years. We really don’t know,” my mom answered.
When I was about six years old, Mette had this beautiful, large fish tank in our family’s rec room filled with all different kinds of fish, the largest group being zebra fish. I was too little help her with any fish tank maintenance, so I spent countless hours watching the fish dart to and fro.
One day, when left to my own devices in the rec room, I noticed some leashes from our cat’s recent visit to vet near the fish tank. My eyes then spotted the green wire and mesh net Mette used to scoop her fish out of the tank. I looked back at the leash forming an idea- an idea that would certainly show everyone that I’m not small at all, that I was certainly big enough to care for some little striped fish.
I carefully stretched out the leash on the high pile of the rec room carpet. I grasped the net in my chubby six-year-old hand, feeling empowered. I stood in front of the tank then raised myself on my tippy-toes. Up went the lid on the tank and in water went the end of that glorious net. Swish, swish. I got the first fish. Drip, drip, plop right onto the floor next to the leash.
I repeated the swishing and plopping until all the fish were flopping on the carpet around the carefully placed leash. I stood triumphantly in front of my work, reflecting on my own brilliance. It was time for the walk. Looking down at the brood, I noticed most of the fish had stopped flopping. I knelt on the wet carpet for a closer inspection. Before I could make any real assessment, I noticed a pair of long, thin legs in front of me. I looked up, with all those fish in front of me, to see Mette towering over me like an angry Norse goddess, long blond hair flowing down her shoulders, ready to squash a six year old, shaggy haired gnome. When she finally spoke I felt my confidence cave in around me.
Triumph was now failure: I killed her fish. Fish cannot be walked. Fish need water to breathe. I was really too small. I had made my sister angry with me.
In the weeks following, Mette’s fish were replaced. Again, I was drawn to the tank. Instead of being shooed away, Mette invited me in. She taught me about the fish, what everything in the tank did and let me help her with the maintenance.
I’d forgotten that story, but years later, my sister gave me a birthday card. It was addressed to “the sister who took my fish for a walk.” I learned that after the initial shock of finding her fish all over the floor and while I was thinking about what I’d done in my room, my parents and sisters were in stitches over the event.
I spent the rest of the day in a daze. Everything moved around me while I pondered the depth of the news. During break at work, I called John, then my boyfriend, to share the weight of this news. “A prognosis is an educated guess,” he said. “And if she told your mom, she’s willing to rebuild relationships. Give it time.”
John was right. Mette outlived her prognosis and reached out to all of us. In the decade that passed, I gained an understanding of why events transpired the way they did. Our reunion was joyful, as if no time has passed in some ways and in others like we’d just met. As I listened to her recount the fish story to my son, I was reminded that I will always be her littlest sister. Then I realized even though I was the littlest sister, this story is about meeting Mette where she is and not where I wanted her to be all along.[/toggle]
news of a grandparent’s death
Christy Strickler says, “This layout is about receiving news of my grandfather’s death. It’s been some time, but I have been wanting to document how I felt about him.”
“I used Story Coach to break apart my memories and the things I wanted to document into sections which I then put onto three tags. This is a difficult topic for me to document. I ended up writing directly to my grandfather ( as though he delivered the news to me himself), but now I have additional ideas for documenting specific memories on other pages. Writing with the Story Coach makes it less emotionally overwhelming.”
[toggle title_open=”hide journaling” title_closed=”read journaling” hide=”yes” border=”yes” style=”default” ]Christy’s Journaling (the journaling is rather extensive, so I will paraphrase from each of the tags. ): When I was little, you took me everywhere with you. I remember trips to McArthur dairy to buy ice cream for the store. Sitting in the accountants office watching you discuss your business with him. When you Smoked a pipe. When you quit. Splashing in puddles.So many good times!
I grew up and you accepted me for who I was. You welcomed my husband to the family. You adored my son.
And now, you are gone. I miss you. Everything you taught me lives on, most especially in the way I am raising my son. [/toggle]
Glimpses of my Papaw by Christy Strickler |Supplies Patterned Paper: Basic Grey, Studio Calico, Fancy Pants; Letters: LillyBee Designs, Jillibean Soup; Jewels: Making Memories;Tape: My Mind’s Eye; Ephemera: Basic Grey; Flair: A Flair for Buttons; Wood Veneer: Studio Calico;Other: tags, twine, label maker
news of a childhood friend
Andrea says, “On this page I wrote about an old friend who disappeared, and I used the Story Coach guide for class #2 “News of You.” I really wanted to make this layout, but I struggle with my writing. I found it is great to have this story recorded now, and I was able to do it with Story Coach.”
[toggle title_open=”hide journaling” title_closed=”read journaling” hide=”yes” border=”yes” style=”default” ]Andrea’s Journaling: The news of Lynn’s disappearance came when I when I got home from work. I just got off the bus from New York City and went into my apartment, my mother called with the news.
I was in my early 20s and working at the Museum of Modern Art. Even though I did not get paid much, the experience of working in a building with all that famous art was amazing. This was a fun and exciting part of my life.
I thought of Lynn, my best friend when I was a teenager. We spent most of our summers down the shore, she lived across the street. Many hours were spent together at the beach when we werent working. We shared our dreams for the future, crushes, water skiing in the bay and watching the sunrise on the beach.
I do remember one conversation that we had about our futures. Lynn did not see her future.
When I heard that Lynn had disappeared I felt a bit guilty but also sad. At one time we were so close. Lynn was a year older than me. It was when she started college at the University of Delaware that all the problems started. She started imagining strange things and had to drop out. Later she was diagnosed with schizophrenia.
When I was a sophomore in college she came to visit me. The visit did not go well, she was disoriented and I had to call for help. I felt terrible. She did not like being on her medication, it made her foggy but without it she could not think straight. After that, the distance increased between us. I heard she met someone and got married. They both moved to Florida. Unfortunately she went off her medication and got involved with a cult. At that point they lost track of her.
When I think back about Lynn, there were many great memories, but my best memory with Lynn was our trip to Florida with her family. They let us stay in our own room, we felt so independent and grown up. It was spring break I was 16 and Lynn 17. Most of our time was spent the beach and going out to eat. I remember the hug palmetto bug on the wall in the hotel and I did get too much sun and my ankles swelled. But we still had a wonderful time together.
Lynn’s mother told my mother the news. She was never found her as far as I know. It makes me very sad thinking about what may have happened to her. They hired a private detective but he never found her either. It has been many years since. I cannot help but wondering if I could have done something different to help her. Sadly I will never know the answer to that.[/toggle]
Remember by Andrea | Anna Aspnes, ArtPay Palette Wander; Katie Pertiet, Pinup vintage frames.
Consider a time when you’ve received news about someone who was (but no longer is) a regular and an important part of your life, and then write that story. Along the way discover something about youself and Life. Click here.
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