Stories

In the nursing facility where I work, the residents all have stories of personal history.  These stories are precious, but remained a buried treasure until I ask a question, such as "Tell me about that picture on your wall."  Then a life unfolds like an onion being peeled.  People feel more loved and important when someone wants to hear their stories of life.  Ultimately, we all die alone, but we do not have to die lonely, with a cell phone in our hand and no one to call.  I thought I was a teacher, but few seem to come to listen to me anymore.  Maybe I am called now to be more of a listener, an audience of one for the resident in the care facility.