The Awesome Power Of “Telling The Story”: Why We Should Be Proud Of Our Work With The Bereaved

(Author, educator and grief counselor Dr. Alan Wolfelt is committed to helping people mourn well so they can go on to live well and love well. He is founder and Director of the Center for Loss and Life Transition, in Fort Collins, Colorado. Past recipient of the Association of Death Education and Counseling’s Death Educator Award, he is also a faculty member of the University of Colorado Medical School’s Department of Family Medicine. His 84 books are available at https://www.thriftbooks.com. To learn more, visit www.centerforloss.com.)

As my father by in his hospital bed recovering from cancer surgery recently, it was my privilege to honor his life story. My wonderful father recognized in his head and heart that his days on earth were limited. Rest did not come easy, but his need to “‘story” did.

His love of family flowed out of stories from his childhood. He told me how his mother inspired his love for baseball. He told me how his father was not very emotionally or physically available to him as he grew from childhood to adolescence. He told me of his deep love for his older brothers and sisters.

In the midst of my awareness that I would soon not have my father in my life, I listened and I learned. I affirmed that his love for me was true and abiding. I learned of his fears about my mother, who will survive him. I learned what I already knew — my father is a great man, a loving husband, and a wonderful father.

I also learned about the awesome power of “telling the story.” As he shifted from topic to topic, he did not need me to get in the way. As he occasionally struggled with a detail of a long-ago memory, he did not need me to get in the way. As he was brought to tears by his love-filled memories of life and living, he did not need me to get in the way.

I write these words on an airplane as I leave him for what may be one of the last times. As I reflect on my all-night vigil of honoring his story, I am once again humbled by the remarkable importance of how “storying”‘ brings meaning and purpose to our life and death experiences. Like you, I work with the bereaved and commit much of my life’s vocation to honoring stories — stories of love and loss, pain and joy, hopes fulfilled and dreams lost.

My heightened awareness of stories’ power occurred at a moment of need. Recently, I conducted a series of media interviews ranging from daily newspapers to TIME magazine. Surprisingly, I was put in the position of defending my chosen profession. Following the highly publicized Columbine High School tragedy, the media had many leads to pursue. When the flawed analysis of the causes, the emotional interviews with those most impacted, and the coverage of the funerals was over, however, the media felt the urge to find more story lines. After all, anything connected to Columbine seemed to capture readers.

Therefore, in the frenzy to search out and create more stories, they found me — a grief counselor, a person who founded the Center for Loss and Life Transition years ago in an effort to help people devastated by loss, and a person who loves to educate and train others about the importance and value of companioning each other in times of grief.

While talking to the media, it did not take me long to understand that the stories would not be friendly because of the nature of the questions: “Don’t you think these kids would be better off just putting this tragedy behind them?” “Why do all these grief counselors think they have to rush to the scene?” ” What is the value of what you do?” “Aren’t you just listening and getting paid for it?”

Reaffirming Our Value
Thanks to my loving father and his need to tell the story, I have given more thought to the many reasons why we should be proud of the work we do with the bereaved. The many benefits of honoring the stories of our fellow human beings include:

• We can search for wholeness among our fractured parts.
• We can come to know who we are in new and unexpected ways.
• We can explore our past and come to a more profound understanding of our origins and our future directions.
• We can tentatively explain our view of the world and come to understand who we are.
• We can explore how love experienced and love lost have influenced our time on earth.
• We can discover how a life without “story” is like a book without pages — nice to see but lacking in substance.
• We can seek forgiveness and be humbled by our own mortality.
• We can determine how adversity has enriched our meaning and purpose of life.
• We can journey inward and discover connections previously not understood or acknowledged.
• We can create an awareness of how the past interfaces with the present, and how the present ebbs back into the past.
• We can discover that the route to healing lies not only in the physical realm, but also in the emotional and spiritual realms.
• We can find that the fulfillment of a life well lived is bestowed through the translation of our past into experiences that are expressed through the oral or written word.
• We can come to understand that in our pain and suffering lies the awareness of the preciousness of each day on earth.
• We can discover our truth in this present moment of time and space.

In part, we heal ourselves as we tell the tale. This is the awesome power of the story.

Yet, in our fast-paced, efficiency-based culture, which lacks an understanding of the role of hurt in healing, many people do not understand the value of telling the story. Honoring stories requires that we slow down, turn inward, and embrace our pain and that of others. Listening to stories filled with sadness and grief is intolerable in a culture that collectively avoids these emotions whenever possible.

Thus, a number of media-types recently tried to suggest that grief counselors, aftercare givers, and others who focus on helping families through times of loss are unnecessary, perhaps even damaging. They might have you believe that those most impacted by the Columbine tragedy would be better off it they “bucked up,” carried on, and “kept their chin up.” One of my interviewers even asked, “Don’t you think traumatic pain like this is better off denied?” In an effort to create a story, the media tried to become “story-killers.”

The need to tell the story and have it heard prevails, however, as does the need to have safe places to acknowledge the reality of the loss, embrace the pain, secure memories, search for meaning, and receive ongoing support. This need is more powerful than the media, which is contaminated by a culture that has lost its sense of community.

I hope you feel as proud as I do to work with bereaved families. Though some may question the need for what you and I do to help people in grief, I suggest we stand tall and proud. It is primarily through having places to “story” that people have the opportunity to try to make sense of the senseless, to embrace what needs to be embraced, and to reveal that the human spirit prevails.

A Sacred Moment
Honoring my father’s story also blessed me with a sacred moment. As I helped him prepare to leave the hospital, he gave me a “high five,” and with a glint in his eye said, “Thanks for listening. Thanks for helping me make a plan to go home.” The awesome power of the story.

Thanks, Dad, for reminding me not only of your love for me and our family, but of how all of us need to stop­ — to listen — and to honor stories about life and death. Thanks for making me proud to be a grief counselor and companion to my fellow human beings but, most of all, thanks for making me proud to be your son.

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Final Exit Network (FEN) is a network of dedicated professionals and caring, trained volunteers
who support mentally competent adults as they navigate their end-of-life journey.
Established in 2004, FEN seeks to educate qualified individuals in practical,
peaceful ways to end their lives, offer a compassionate bedside presence, and defend
a person’s right to choose. For more information, go to www.finalexitnetwork.org.

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