"Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story?" - Hamilton

"Let me tell you what I wish I'd known
When I was young and dreamed of glory
You have no control
Who lives, who dies, who tells your story?"

We finally saw the musical Hamilton earlier this year, and I was every bit as moved by the performance as I knew I would be. There were so many scenes and characters and lyrics that made me shake my head yes and nod vigorously and clap loudly, and in the end, jump out of my seat to give a rousing standing ovation.

In the time since we got back from New York, I have been thinking over and over about the almost three-hour show.  It wasn't just the sets and the costumes and the crash course in American (and a little bit of French) history that I received that day. I was given a gift of words written by someone else that somehow, some way, deeply resonated with me.

I am scared of not being remembered. I worry that I am not doing enough in this world. I want to be sure that I am not forgotten.

Who lives, who dies, who tells MY story?

My family, that's who.

Who lives, who dies, who tells my first daughter's story? I am more scared of Allie being erased from history than I am of me. That is my biggest fear. I have no control. 

Who lives, who dies, who tells HER story?

Our family, that's who. And since she never got the chance to make her own legacy, we do our best to make one for her. We try to honor her by giving to others in her name and remembering her when we are all still here so that she will be remembered when we are not.  The doctors and nurses that took care of me, they might tell her story. The children who receive a backpack and school supplies each Fall, maybe they will tell her story. The bereavement center that gave us the skills to live without her in our arms, they may tell her story. 

Her sister. She will undoubtedly tell her story.

The Aunt of one of my closest friends passed away yesterday. So close that I called her Aunt, too. She saw me perform in our high school musicals. I had Christmas dinner at her house more than once. She was at my friend's bridal shower, and if my memory is correct, she helped throw my friend's baby shower. She was always such a positive force to my friend and her family, and I was lucky enough to know her and be a small part of her life.

As she got weaker and waited for death to come, her husband took charge of her social media account to let people know what was happening. Just a few hours before she died, he wrote that he was able to save every post she ever made. He has all her pictures and eleven years and one month of her thoughts and feelings. What a gift!

He will live to tell her story. 

"Have I done enough, will they tell your story?"

Yes, you did. They will. We will. 

I do not have to wonder what Allie was doing at 4:15pm yesterday. I know for sure that she was making a new friend. And together, they will tell many stories.