by Sheryl Sieracki, Legacies of a Lifetime
When people learn that I help others preserve their memories and life stories, their response is typically, “Wow, that’s great! I really need to do that for my [mother/grandfather/fill in the blank].” I know that they mean it, but I also know that most will end up not doing anything. Despite our good intentions, it’s easy for obstacles to get in the way—and before we know it, it’s too late.
I experienced this myself. When I started my life story writing business, I decided to hone my skills by recording my father-in-law. Pop described his childhood in rural Pennsylvania and what it was like to work in the coal mines. Before he had a chance to tell me how he eventually became a chief psychologist with the Veterans Administration, I landed my first paying client. More followed, and between working with them, building my business, and tending to my family, I felt too busy to go back to Pop’s project. I had good intentions, but my feeling of overwhelm became an obstacle that kept me from fulfilling those intentions. When Pop passed away, my grief was mixed with tremendous guilt for not ensuring that his family and his descendants—including my children—would know his full story.
So how can you avoid feeling guilty for not preserving the stories of your loved one? Research shows that you’ll be more likely to follow through with a goal if you:
- Have a specific plan for where and when you’ll perform a new habit or take action on the goal,
- Identify potential obstacles, and
- Identify “if-then” plans for each obstacle.
If I had done this, my specific plan would have been, “I will interview Pop every other Sunday at 10 a.m. at his house.” And an if-then plan would have been, “If I get overwhelmed by client work, I’ll set aside one day a month to interview Pop.” Sounds simple, right? I know this method is successful, because it worked for me years later with my mother.
My specific plan was to record interviews with Mom (my father had already passed away) at least twice a year—when I visited her in Florida each winter and when the family got together at the beach each summer. By committing to interview Mom when I was on a scheduled break, I couldn’t abandon the project because of too much client work. And one of my if-then plans for our beach sessions was, “If there are competing family activities, I’ll ask my family to reschedule them around my time with Mom,” knowing that they, too, felt that this project was important.
During our last summer interview, I noticed Mom was repeating herself more and having memory issues. That fall, a series of incidents led my siblings and me to help her move from her condo into a memory care community. Although she’s still capable of conversation, her short-term memory is faltering, and her long-term memory has become limited to frequently recounted versions of life events.
I’m so thankful that I recorded Mom when I did, because if I had started now, she wouldn’t be able to remember most of what she told me over the years. My family would never know that my great-grandmother was a talented seamstress who did delicate needlework all her life but never needed glasses, even in her nineties. Or that Mom and Dad put their wedding together in just one day—shopping for her dress, his suit, and their wedding rings; getting the marriage license and their blood tests; inviting family and close friends—before he was shipped overseas to Korea; and that it was so hot during the ceremony that the candles melted. It’s the small details like these that paint a fuller picture of those we know and love and make our distant ancestors real to us.
If you’ve been thinking about capturing someone’s life stories, don’t put it off. Make a specific plan for where and when you’ll start, identify potential obstacles, and formulate your if-then plans. (One of them might be, “If I find that I can’t do this myself, I’ll hire a life story professional”!) Don’t let your good intentions become your greatest regret.