The greatest gift you can give people is your story

On October 22, 2022 I grabbed my phone at 3 a.m. to check the time. “Wedding,” popped up as a calendar entry. There was no wedding planned on this day, but it was a reminder that earlier in the year I’d picked out potential dates based on the roundness of numbers. Wedding on 10/22/2022. Mark was a numbers guy, and after two years together I believed we’d make it official on a Saturday in 2022.

Another calendar entry notified me of today’s “Mount Sac Cross Country Race.” Close your eyes. You’ve still got time to sleep before you need to make Sam french toast and get him to his race. Mark will be here at 5:45 and you’ve got a big day ahead. 

I never got back to sleep and Mark never woke up. His heart stopped at some point during the wee hours of that morning even though I wouldn’t discover he’d died until a few hours later. On first glance this story seems to be about the heartbreaking loss of my groom on my imagined wedding day.

Beyond the wedding notification and the unanswered texts and calls of 10/22/22, there’s more to the story. Mark left his beloved calculator with Sam that week for the PSAT test, which also added up. He also left our two toothbrushes next to his sink standing bristle to bristle, the way he preferred to leave them as a sign of love. There was the soulful conversation Mark and I had the day before, sitting next to the pool where we’d met. Mark passed Friday night when our family — his daughters and son-in-law plus me and the boys — were are due to be ceremoniously carving Halloween pumpkins together on Saturday afternoon. And Mark left us on 10/22 without me sleeping next to him, which wouldn’t have been the case on 10/23. This is also a story of hope, connection, and grace.

There are more stories within the stories and more layers to these layers. There are stories that are easier to tell while others remain untold. One year later, some parts of the story begin to fade. Other parts, like the hallow echo and pale color of the sky that October morning, will never leave me. There are my stories, as well as Mark’s stories, plus the stories of my kids, his kids and his family, and all of the people who know us. All of our stories distinct and webbed together.

I’ve been working on this piece of writing for a few weeks, unsure of what to share at the one year anniversary of Mark’s passing, or even what I’m trying to say with the sharing. I simply wish to share some of the story, without needing to make it mean something or having it all come together in a nice, neat way because the story is more nuanced and complex than what words can express.

There’s a post floating around social media calling for, “No more false binaries.” Indeed constructive conversation about all meaningful things in life expand us beyond a binary. The stories of October 22, 2022 certainly do for me.

Comedian and writer Judd Apatow said, “The greatest gift you can give people is your story.” Each of our lives shares a story, whether told or untold. Each day we live is an essay tucked into the greater multi-volume memoir. Through story we connect to ourselves and to each other. Through story we allow ourselves to be seen, or remain unseen.

Today many cultures celebrate The Day of the Dead, and it feels like the right day to share the story of these moments early in the day of Mark’s passing.

My prayer is that today and everyday I make space for story. For my story, and your story, and all of our stories. For those who live, and those who died. My heart is heavy for humanity and for the wars we wage on ourselves and each other. The story of our lives is the story our children and their children inherit.

If you’d like to share a story with me or a prayer that lives in your heart, I’m here for it. I’d be honored if you’d write to me or leave a comment here. Your story is my story and I’m here for it. Thank you for witnessing mine.