A Photographic Expedition of Good Listening
To Stories about Death and Dying
Photographs, like facts, don’t lie.
But they need context.
This story is about good listening.
And how, sometimes, magic happens in the classroom.
The Students
Ruth, Alan, and I didn’t know what to expect when we started planning a Life Long Learning Seminar on Death and Dying last spring.* We have about 150 years of college teaching experience. Ruth taught Italian and French, Alan Communication Studies, and I Politics, so we brought no scholarly expertise to this subject.
Approaching 80, we focused on what one of us called the two elephants in the room. Each of us had stories to tell, experiences that left more questions than answers. But we didn’t know whether others would join us. And if they did, would they talk? As one friend, Dale, 81, told us, “We never talked about death in my family. I’m not sure I want to start.”
On the first of four Wednesdays in October, 41 souls showed up, including Dale. You can see them sitting expectantly in the first photo. Everyone’s eyes, except for Uwe, who is taking notes, and Dale, just beyond Uwe’s right shoulder and thinking, are looking at us, the sages on the stage. In a moment, I will take up the mic you see in front of my nameplate to briefly describe the day’s agenda and the first exercise.
The Sages on the Stage
Before the first class, Alan, Ruth, and I decided that our primary pedagogical strategy would be small-group discussions, where ideas and stories would be shared, serving as the foundation for entire-class conversations. Again, we weren’t sure people would share stories about these uncomfortable topics.
What we quickly discovered on that first day, as the three sages moved around the room, was a constant hum of conversation. In the photo below, you see two standing figures, Alan on the left and Ruth silhouetted in the rear. That’s what experienced teachers do: monitor to ensure students stay on task. Silly, for this group, I know. We soon relaxed and just folded ourselves into the groups and listened.
The sages moved off the stage, found empty seats in the audience, and enjoyed the show.
That’s when we discovered the magic of good listening.
To stories about death and dying.
Memorialized in photographs.
A Photographic Expedition of Good Listening**
Good Listening***
It requires energy to be a good listener.
Doesn’t it?
We know this because when someone listens to us, we feel their liveliness directed outward toward us.
Even when we are telling them a story about death.
For example, the most memorable story of our four-week seminar was told by Dale. He shared this story on the final day.
Dale’s father died when Dale was five. Five-year-olds call their dads daddy. I did, and also, before bed, my daddy would kiss me on my forehead. Both stopped when I turned six.
Dale told us he never got to call his daddy, Dad. Years afterward, Dale could not understand when his friends called their daddies' dad. He wished someone had talked with him about what is lost when someone close to you dies. No one did because “no one talked about death in my family.”
By this time in the seminar, Dale and the rest of us had experienced good listening over and over.
Where our mates looked at us, leaned toward us, asked follow-up questions, and opened themselves up with their tales when we finished.
Magic.
*The author took all the photos.
**You can read the stories I’ve written about the class here.
***I used Alain De Botton’s discussion of good listening in The School of Life: An Emotional Education.
