Every life is a story, but not every story gets told. Recently, I found myself grappling with this reality as I visited my mother on her 90-something birthday. She lives in a nursing home now, lost in the late stages of dementia. As I sat by her side, feeding her just as she once fed me as a child, I realized that the stories she once held—stories of a life lived fully—were slipping away, disappearing into the silence that now envelops her. I showed her many photos of her granddaughters and their family. I shared photos of my wife and me, and each reaction was similar. A smile or perhaps a nod, but confusion was on her face more often than not. I asked many questions about events in her life and was greeted by silence and a stare.

In that quiet room, it struck me: How many stories are we letting fade into the abyss, untold and unshared? How much wisdom, history, and personal triumph are we losing each day because we assume there will always be more time? Watching my mother and the other residents around her, I couldn’t help but think about all the untold tales being held captive by the ravages of time and memory.

While I was there, I couldn’t help but notice the other residents in the nursing home. About half of them were in a similar state—lost in their own worlds, only occasionally interacting with the staff who took care of them. Friends or family members visited now and then, but for the most part, they seemed to exist in a sort of limbo, where the days blend together and the outside world feels distant. Some had obvious physical ailments or conditions. One woman appeared to be autistic, neatly folding, pouring, and reorganizing her dishes and clothes on the table. Another woman had a condition where she had sudden outbursts that instantly caught my attention, but to the staff and other patients, it didn’t even register.

There was one gentleman who sat at my mother’s table during meals. He seemed to have a condition like palsy, where he was rigid in his wheelchair and had sudden erratic motions, staring at the ceiling the entire time. Yet, when the staff spoke to him or fed him, he responded—there was still something there, beneath the surface. One meal, I believe it was his wife or perhaps sister who fed him, and then cradled his face in her hands, giving a gentle kiss on his cheek as she left. Her face showed resignation, knowing she had done all she could for him, but there was a longing to do more, to break through and reach the soul that still remained locked inside.

In each of these cases, I couldn’t help but wonder how many stories were being held prisoner by their conditions. How many memories, experiences, and pieces of wisdom were locked away, never to be shared with others? How many tales of joy, love, hardship, and resilience would go untold, and as a result, how much poorer would we all be for it?

We all think we have plenty of time to tell our stories. We imagine there will always be another day, another opportunity to sit down and share the moments that have shaped us. But life has a way of slipping through our fingers faster than we realize. We get caught up in the busyness of our daily lives, postponing those conversations for a later time—a time that may never come.

Sometimes we hold back because we don’t think our stories are worthy or relevant to anyone else. We might be embarrassed by them, or we wait until we feel like the story is perfect or the timing is right. But the truth is, every story is valuable. Every experience, no matter how mundane or extraordinary, has something to offer. Our stories connect us, teach us, and remind us of our shared humanity.

As I fed my mother, I couldn’t shake the feeling that her untold stories were slipping away, like sand through an hourglass. The memories she once held so vividly were fading, and with them, a part of our family’s history was being lost. It was a stark reminder that our stories are precious, and they must be shared before it’s too late.

Our stories are more than just a record of our lives—they are a legacy that we leave behind. They have the power to connect generations, to teach and inspire, to remind us where we come from and who we are. When we share our stories, we give others the gift of our experiences, allowing them to learn from our mistakes, find comfort in our successes, and see the world through our eyes.

But if we wait too long, those stories may be lost forever. The people who lived them may no longer be able to share them, and the lessons they carry may never be passed on. It’s a loss not just for the individual, but for everyone who might have benefited from hearing their tale.

I returned from the visit with my mom a changed man. My mother still had things to teach me. No, I didn’t grow hair, come back with new knees, or suddenly gain the body of an Olympian. Well, I guess I might be confused with a shot putter, but that’s another story. What she taught me was the importance of our stories—how vital it is to share them before they’re lost forever.

So, I urge you—don’t wait. Tell your stories now. Write them down, share them with a loved one, record them for posterity. It doesn’t matter if they’re not perfect or polished; what matters is that they are told. Because once they’re gone, they’re gone forever, and the world will be a lesser place for it.

In the end, our stories are all we truly have. They are the threads that weave the fabric of our lives, connecting us to those who came before us and those who will come after. Don’t let them disappear into the void. Share them, cherish them, and pass them on to those who need to hear them. Because your story is worth telling, and it deserves to be heard.

PS: I recently had a meeting with someone about expanding my reach. He suggested that I needed to share more of me to expand my tribe and help more people tell their stories. While I thought about it, I hadn’t taken any action until now. I’ve let my obsession with finding the perfect story and the endless quest for more information keep me from starting. Like most people, I think I have a lot of time left, but spending those few days with my mother made me realize that I don’t know how much time I have left. To be honest, none of us do. So, I will be sharing more of my stories and hope you will join me on the journey. Please heed my plea above and start sharing your stories. If you need help, please connect with me, and let’s see if there’s a way I can help.

Every life is a story.

Every life is a story never miss one of my posts because I’ll be happy to notify you.

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Every life has a story and that every life has a story includes you.