Why Haven't I Recorded My Grandparents' Stories Yet?

The stories are still there. The people who hold them are still here. But you keep telling yourself there will be time later — a quieter week, a better recorder, a clearer question to ask. This is not really about equipment or timing. It is about what happens when you sit close to someone you love and let them speak of the dead, of hard years, of a home that no longer exists. Some part of you flinches from that closeness. So I ask you plainly: are you avoiding this from love, or from fear? Love would sit down today, imperfectly, and listen. Fear keeps waiting for a moment that feels safe. There is no such moment. There is only love, choosing now.