For me, stories come like lightning. Or perhaps it’s more like rolling thunder. Although sometimes it reminds me more of a pebble thrown into water, with the ripples taking their sweet time to reach the edge.

Whether they strike, quick and fast, or lumber in dragging their heels, stories come when I listen for them. Often the best place for listening is outdoors with the more-than-human while sitting by the creek or the lake near my house, or wandering the Land on my own. Perhaps I’m more open to them this way or it gives me time and space to think (or sometimes not think).

But that’s not how this story came to me. This one came quick and fast, a lightening story, in the middle of a sleepless night.

Those that have followed my journey for a while know my deep passion for storytelling as a practice that deeply intimidated me at first, but then captured me entirely once I tried it. ‘Story as Teacher’ was my first introduction. So much can be taught through story, for children and adults alike, in a way that entices and inspires the listener like nothing else can. If you want to convey a concept, tell a story! If you want to spark creativity, tell a story! If you want to introduce a new skill, tell a story!

Stories can teach oh so much!

But as I’ve moved deeper into working with stories (storywork as some may call it), I’ve learned more about ‘Story as Healer’ - the kind of story that can help us as we lick our emotional wounds and soothe our sore hearts. Therapeutic storywork.

So on that dark sleepless night, instead of lying in bed counting sheep or anxiously anticipating a tired day ahead, I decided to create a story…

After reading the book Stories to Light the Night: A Grief and Loss Collection for Children, Families, and Communities by Susan Perrow I was inspired to write a story for the children in our Outdoor Play Grief Support Group with Playful Mindset, most of whom have experienced the loss of a close family member. These children are no strangers to death and though we often feel inclined to shy away from discussing death with children, it’s incredibly important not to. For what we don’t answer or address, they will fill in gaps themselves and frequently those gaps are filled with feelings of shame and guilt.

So as I lay there, I thought about and felt into the experiences of play we’d already had together - wandering the forests, finding animal bones, asking curious questions about them, and of course our encounters with the Cardinal…

Crack! Like lightning, this story came. So simple I wondered if it would have any impact at all.

I told the story to our group the next day. It was evening and we sat in circle around a fire. One child seemed entirely disinterested as she played on a log nearby instead of sitting with us. But most listened, and some even took guesses along the way of what would come next, predicting that the bone was from the fawn's mother and that she had died. 

I finished the story and there was a brief silence. The child who I’d thought hadn’t listened at all walked straight across the circle to me and hugged me hard. Another began grappling with the ending. Dissatisfied with the storyline, he said “She didn’t have to die! She could have just been lost.” His mother, too, had died. One child smiled serenely while another was quiet and teary. 

I will never know exactly how the story landed with each child, nor the extent of its therapeutic value. Yet I see the variety in responses to the story as a true mark of “Story as Healer.” 

As Susan Perrow says, 

In any case, what I know the story did do was provide children the opportunity to gently engage with the emotional complexity surrounding death and loss from an adult who was willing to talk about it.

References:

Perrow, S. (2021). Stories to Light the Night: A Grief and Loss Collection for Children, Families, and Communities. Hawthorn Press.