Have I ever thought there was plenty of time to do something, took no immediate action, then realized it was too late? Well I have, and it still hurts when I think about it.
I Was Going to Record Their Stories
For years I told myself I would sit down with my older relatives and capture their stories. Get them on video or write them down. Ask the questions I had always been curious about but never got around to asking.
What was it like growing up during the Depression? What do you remember about your parents? What about grandparents and aunts, Uncles? What else do you wish someone would ask you?
I had the questions and the intent. What I did not have was a sense of urgency. I want to kick myself in the ass now. Because they were always there. Different dinners at holidays and family reunions and gatherings where the same old stories got told and everyone laughed at the same parts. It felt like it would always be there. It felt like something I could get to whenever I was ready.
I was never ready and now they are gone.
The Excuses Were Easy
I told myself I needed the right equipment, a better camera and microphone. That I needed the right time, a quiet afternoon with no distractions, when they were feeling talkative and I was feeling patient. I told myself I would do it next visit, the next holiday, next reunion. Then it was next summer when things slowed down at work. Next never came or it came and I found another excuse to wait.
Excuses are like assholes and make us look like one most times.
What I Lost
I do not know my grandmother's favorite song when she cooked. I do not know what my grandfather thought about when he would make fishing nets on weekends sitting on his porch. I do not know the names of people who shaped them before I even existed. I have fragments and secondhand versions of stories filtered through other relatives who remember pieces but not the whole picture. Some of that is biased for reasons I won't go into. I have photographs of people whose names I have to guess at because nobody wrote them on the back and the people who knew are no longer here to ask.
The history of my family exists now only in scattered memories that fade a little more each year. And I had the chance to preserve it. I just did not take it.
Fuck me for it. I'm an asshole!
The Hard Truth
I always thought there was plenty of time because I could not imagine them not being there. That is a trick your brain plays on you. The people who have always been present feel like they always will be present. You do not plan for their absence because their presence feels like a fixed point in your world. It is not and nothing is. By the time you realize the window is closing, you are watching it shut.
And they are gone now. Fuck me to hell.
What I Would Tell You
If you have older relatives still living, do not make my mistake. You do not need professional equipment. Your smart phone is just fine for the job. You do not need to be some professional interviewed with the perfect questions. Just ask them to tell you about their life. Let them ramble and go off on tangents. Record the whole messy wandering conversation. Ask about the mundane stuff. The small details are the ones that disappear first and matter most later. The smaller details usually brought up the most fun memories as well.
Do it this week. Not next month. Not next holiday. This week. Because "plenty of time" is just bullshit we feed ourselves.
Thanks for reading,
Joe
Notes:
-All content is mine unless otherwise annotated.
-Images are my own unless otherwise noted.
-Photos edited using MS Paint and/or iPhone SE.
-Page Dividers from The Terminal Discord.
