My Uncle’s Silence Taught Me to Tell My Stories Now

Why you should tell your stories, too.

My uncle and his dog chasing after his nephews.Photo byImage made by author with Canva AI.

Not long ago, my uncle passed away. He died quietly alone, confined in a nursing home. My family lives hundreds of miles away, so it was a full day before we got the news.

My knowledge of my uncle is rather limited. He didn’t like children, and he wasn’t the type of man who liked to talk. Still, in his passing, I’ve learned an important life lesson.

My uncle was a veteran and served two tours in Vietnam. My mom, his sister, says he came back from the war a different person, someone that she never again recognized.

That new person is the one he stayed for the rest of his life. It may have been an untreated mental illness, but we'll never know.

Lost potential

With the loss of my uncle, I weep for my mother as she mourns the death of her brother. However, I’m more grieved at the loss of potential and the relationships that could have been.

In the years I was growing up, I only remember my uncle speaking to me one time. ‘Speaking’ may not be the right word because he was yelling.

My uncle lived two doors down from my grandmother. My young cousins and I loved to play at my grandmother’s house. She preferred we play outside.

Periodically, we would run back and forth between her house and my uncle’s house through the covered walkway of the house between them. Sometimes it was tag or follow the leader, and at other times, it was just to run through opening because we could pretend it was a cave.

Then there were times we ran the distance just to see my uncle’s white dog because of his funny name: Pooper. Like my uncle, Pooper did not like kids, so our running and laughing probably tormented him. He barked aggressively to express his annoyance.

I'm sure the constant running and laughing were too much for my uncle, or maybe he worried we were upsetting Pooper. I can’t be sure what set him off. Eventually, he came out of his garage and cursed us with loud, colorful words until we ran away. The kind of words that only sailors and bikers said in the 1970s.

In the 20 years that I lived in the same town as my uncle, that’s the only time I ever remember him speaking directly to me. A dozen angry words, most of which I couldn't repeat without getting a yellow bar of Dial soap jammed in my mouth.

Reading words online

Tonight, I was reading a copy of my uncle's obituary from a file I saved on my computer. An odd chill ran up my back as I realized how little I knew about a man who was a blood relation.

I knew my uncle had served in Vietnam. The adult members of our family often reminded us of that and used it as a reason for why he was so gruff.

What I didn’t know was how long he had been in Vietnam or how many medals he had received for his service.

I’m embarrassed to say that I had no clue where my uncle worked for the last 30 years of his career. I never met his second wife nor any of their children.

Now, my uncle is gone. There is nothing I can do to fix any of those deficiencies.

A man in a grocery story observing other shoppers.Photo byImage made by author with Canva AI.

People are everywhere

People touch our lives every day. Part of my uncle's life lesson dawned on me when I stopped at the grocery store this afternoon.

I was in the store for a good 45 minutes. During that time, I nodded and smiled at probably three dozen people. I only spoke to one of them and then only for a few seconds.

Going grocery shopping is one of my least favorite activities. Usually, I approach the store like a man on a mission. The goal is to get in and out of the store as quickly as possible. I give myself extra points if I can avoid any conversation. I'm an introvert and small talk is physically painful.

The problem is I live in a small town. We have three traffic lights in the whole county.

Most of the last two decades, I worked in positions that allowed me to interact with a lot of my town’s population. So going to one of our two grocery stores nearly guarantees I will see someone who knows me. So my dodge and dash game is especially helpful for getting me out of the store as quickly as possible.

At the end of today’s trip, when I was standing in line waiting for one of those self-service registers—where you can scan your items and leave the store without talking to anyone—I was reminded of my uncle.

All of the other people in the store, at least in my line-of-sight right then, I know nothing about. I don’t know their history or stories. Most of them I don’t know their names or anything about them. Yet, each one of them has a story, a history, that should be told.

Missed opportunities

For whatever reason, my uncle couldn’t share his stories. He refused to talk about the war, and then extended the wall until he shared nothing about himself. Perhaps, it was just a matter that he didn’t want to share his experiences.

My mom told me he came home from the war a quiet man. Even at family dinners, he said little. We know he lost close friends, but we have few other details about his tour of duty. The stories he could have told are now gone forever.

Would it have been worth my time to try to get to know my uncle? Could I have learned more about him if I tried? Is there anything I could have done to help him open up and tell his stories?

I’ll never know the answer to those questions. My uncle sleeps now, and that door of opportunity is no longer open to anyone.

Now in my 50s, I’m very much a loner and a homebody. More than ever, now I can relate to the type of life my uncle lived. I could easily be the man charging out of my house to yell at children running nearby. I don’t, but I could see how it could happen.

There’s a life lesson my uncle can teach me, though. My life isn’t over, and I have a lot of stories yet to be told. I’m not a soldier, and I never served in a war, but I have fought many battles. Maybe those experiences will be of no interest to most people, but maybe there’s one person who could benefit. So, now I tell my stories online, here on NewsBreak, my blog, Medium, and in my weekly newsletter.

Tell your stories

My recommendation for you is to share your stories. Whether you’re a writer and want to put your words on paper, or you’re the type who likes to tell tales in person, stop keeping your stories to yourself. Those words are your stories and no one else can tell them.

My uncle had a library in his head, hundreds of stories that no one but he knew. That entire library is now gone.

Whether you are ten or a hundred or anywhere in between, you too have stories. There’s a library of tales living in your head. The stories of what you’ve done and the tales of love and heartbreak. Often those internal stories are the most valuable ones to share.

As brave as my uncle was, he didn’t feel he was strong enough to share his stories. I know he was stronger than he realized, but I didn’t take the chance to tell him. So, instead, I’m here tonight putting these words out into the world. Hopefully, there’s a lesson we can all learn from my uncle’s silence.

Tell your stories. Share your truth. Dispense your wisdom. The world needs what you have to tell.

You are the only one who can tell your stories.

Until next time, keep fighting.