Painting Pictures

When I started legacy coaching - although I didn't know that's what it was - with my Mom, I'd all too frequently ask her something along the lines of, "So, Mom - how was life different when you were young than it is today?"

In the beginning, it never dawned on me that the question was so broad, encompassed so much, there wasn't any hook to help make it simple for her to remember, let alone share.

Always amazed me how Mom initially clammed up when I asked for stories about her life.  She'd freeze every time I switched on the tape recorder.  It's really hard for people who came to know & love her Mindwalker1910 e-mails to picture her balking at thinking about the past, the people & moments that I never experienced yet were part & parcel of Mom's being, because what she ended up sharing is so rich, so alive.  

That tape recorder was as intimidating to her as putting a big blank piece of paper in front of most of us and saying, "Now draw something."  We see the empty space and it scares us.  

It didn't scare us when we were little kids.  Have you ever painted with children?  They go through pages & pages & pages of blank pieces of paper, filling them up with all sorts of interesting things.  You might not recognize that the big blobby thing in the center is an elephant & the figure to its right is a monkey, but the artist happily explains it all.  

That's basically all I did with Mom - helped her get to a place where she couldn't wait to fill big blank spaces with remembering, with current day insights, with even mental meanderings.  It became a joy that she savored up to her final days.  And it enriched so many lives beyond her own, so many lives beyond the friends & acquaintances that composed her ever-growing dist list.

What changed?  The way that I asked my questions.  And it wasn't anything I changed due to something I read or heard - it just evolved over a LOT of unsuccessful attempts to help her relax, open up, share what I'd heard her talk about so many times & things she'd never thought to bring up before.

When I started writing this Sneezing Chickens blog, I was on the cusp of understanding how important it is to honor the stories of our lives, to leave them - however simple & unadorned as they might seem to us - for others to hear, experience.   Kevyn Malloy, Mom's mega gifted psychologist, was moved when she heard about Mindwalker1910 - she told Mom that recalling & sharing such stories is one of the deepest ways we can honor our life.  

That was about 13 years ago.  Didn't fully register at the time, but the more I work with my "grannie" clients (and the older I get), the more the fullness of what Kevyn said sinks in on me.

What did I learn that turned my mother from tight-lipped, uncomfortable silence to willing, eager collaborator?  I learned to paint pictures.  Not with paints & canvas, but with words.  Instead of asking, "What were your favorite foods growing up?",  we'd just have a cup of tea & talk - about her younger days, about holidays, about birthdays, until FINALLY the question might come out, "Did you usually have a big Sunday dinner?"  If the answer was yes, we'd get into talking about when they ate, was it in a special place, did my grandmother make a special menu.  And THEN we'd go into some form of, "What were your favorite foods growing up?"

By then, she was so comfortable with the pictures in her mind, felt so connected to people, places & times long past, she was totally at ease remembering.  And I had a lot of information to use painting future pictures.

It sounds lyrical;  it was NOT easy.  It took time.  Lots of time.  And patience.  Like an artist, I learned which colors to use, to avoid;  which brushes to favor - big canvas or small.  

If I approach it in the right way, in the right time, with the right questions, I just might get end up with a masterpiece.

Shared Stories

My sister treated someone else the same way she's treated me since forever.  It felt comforting & strangely positive.  It's not just me, not just me misreading a story line into something it's not.  Doesn't make it easier, but does feel strangely more comforting.  After 60 years, to know in about as tangible way as possible  - it's not just me.