How Does the Story End???

Musings from a storyteller

This is not my normal political rant/article. This week has been a dumpster fire, similar to this one.

The story of my week is one of the hard stories. It started last Friday when we bought a van that fits our family, but not our fuel budget. We picked it up in Clarksville Friday night. Saturday morning I loaded up a couple of my kids and headed to LaFayette. We ran our first cross country race of the season and headed home. Before we even got to White House, word came in that one of our wrestlers had committed suicide. By the time I got home, the Uhaul was picked up and our 22 year old was in the process of packing his things into a truck to move to Bowling Green. We moved him up and got home in time to host the wresting team at our home for tears and hot dogs. Sunday morning found us at church with the family and friends of our deceased wrestler. Monday I get a call that my mom is headed for double bypass surgery and my sister is on the way into town. Cue a week filled with trips to the hospital, a movie, an emergency room visit, (toxic grass to an eyeball), another cross country race, a funeral, and 900 miles later, here I sit in the ICU with my mother whose kidneys are failing but her heart looks to be recovering.

This is NOT a pity party or feel bad for Nikki story. This is a story. This is life. Life is messy and crazy and chaotic. Life is filled with stories. The story of how I met my husband at The Outback Steakhouse where we were both part of the opening staff of a new restaurant. The story of how I walked door to door to meet my neighbors and talk about Jackson Farms. The story of our move from Seattle to Tennessee when the economy collapsed and we had to choose between being homeless and moving to Satan’s armpit. (I hate summer) The beautiful story of the birth of our second daughter, and the funny story of our wedding in Vegas. Those are the stories that make up my life.

Stories are what keep us together. Stories entertain us and bind us to each other through both sympathy and empathy and humor. The stories we tell are funny and sad, but we all have them. Some of us share them better than others, but we all own our stories

I want to know how the story ends. My heart breaks for our young man because he will never know which way the story was going to go. His life is now part of someone else’s story. My story is long, winding, crazy, sad, joyful, and chaotic. My story almost ended early more than once, but I’m still here.

Sitting in this hospital, I don’t know if this stay will be part of my mother’s story, or the end of her book. The truth is none of us know where and when the story will end. All I know is that when mine is over, everyone who knew me will be able to say “She loved the stories. She cherished the stories. She lived her story until the very end.”

Blessings readers…….Tell someone your story today.