Where Does Our Soul Go?

What do our lives mean?

My Mom is dying of terminal cancer. After spending the last few days with her in Tennessee, I have to wonder, as we all do at some point, where do our souls go? What do our lives mean? Does our existence actually mean anything?

Mine is a legacy rich in tradition and service to others, not rich in material goods. My grandfather was a coal miner. His father-in-law was the head of one of the few coal miner’s unions in Tennessee. For them, what began as a life of toil and despair eventually developed into relative prosperity once they represented others and their basic human rights. They rose to represent the workers at a time when mine workers were living in tents.

Why did the workers live in these conditions? Because they had no rights, and the mine owners and/or their representatives could drive through the mining camps and shoot at will into anyone’s tents. They had no regard whatsoever for workers and their basic human needs or their lives. The owners could kill anyone—you, your wife, your children—with no repercussions, at all. None.

It’s called power.

My grandfather and his father-in-law organized the miners. Men, women, and children were given guns. Within the tents, the ground was dug out 1-2 feet below the surface level, and when the mine owners went for a joy ride, guess what? The miners sheltered in their dug-outs and fought back by returning fire. It’s a concept as American as apple pie and ice cream really.

Please keep in mind that this was another world, another century, another millennium.

Eventually, miners received the dignity and rights any and all humans should be given, although mining is still a difficult life. My great-grandfather went on to his Great Reward in Heaven, as Southerners say. My grandfather, he loved politics until the day he died. He became a great proponent of non-violence. As the world changed,he changed. He believed reasonable people could reach agreements without the violence.

Even though I was extremely young when he died, his lesson to me was that you will only achieve happiness when you help other people. When you help others, you forget about your own problems.

My mother has exemplified this example her entire life. Her willingness to give to others is legendary—in her local community. That is another great part of the legacy. Ours is not to call attention to ourselves as in “Look what a great job I am doing helping others.” No, ours is the legacy of giving and sharing with the people that we know and interact with on a daily basis .

Maybe someday, I can share with you on a deeper level my ancestors’ commitment and their involvement, as told through their stories and my stories.

Maybe the stories, even if they are not directly related to my family, will in some way make you forget, if only for a while, that you have a problem, concern, or challenge. Maybe I can entertain you and simply distract your mind into a world you have never considered.

As Waldo Emerson so eloquently stated, “Happiness is a perfume you cannot pour on others without spilling a few drops on yourself.” My mother, her father and her grandfather were able to accomplish this.

If I can make your life better somehow, through a story—a blog, an article, or possibly a novel, I believe maybe, just maybe, that will be our family’s legacy continuing into the new millennium.

**Dedicated to my mother who has made the world a much better place for so many people in our small area of Appalachia.