The Small-Town Stories

"But that's a story for another day."

Well...

Today is that day.

I thought Gerry's story ended the day we said goodbye.

I was wrong.

A few months ago, I started caring for another client.

As we sat talking one day, Gerry's name came up.

I smiled and said, "I used to care for him."

What happened next caught me completely off guard.

Story after story started pouring out.

Not stories Gerry had told me.

Stories about Gerry.

I got to learn about the businessman he was long before I ever knew him.

I heard about how everyone in town seemed to know him.

More importantly, everyone seemed to trust him.

People respected him—not just because he was a dentist, but because of the way he treated people. He had built a reputation over the years as someone who was honest, hardworking, and incredibly savvy in business.

It made me smile because it sounded exactly like the Gerry I knew.

Just a younger version.

I got to learn about his wife in a way I never could have while Gerry was here.

Yes, Gerry told me stories about her.

His children told me stories about her too.

But those stories came from love.

This time, I got to hear about her through the eyes of someone who simply knew them.

She remembered Gerry's wife as a soft-spoken, gentle, quiet woman.

Gerry...

Well, Gerry was Gerry.

Outgoing. Friendly. The kind of person who seemed to know everyone and was always in the middle of a conversation.

The two of them couldn't have been more different, yet somehow they fit together perfectly.

My client remembered going to Gerry's dental office years ago. Her children were around the same age as Gerry's children. They didn't grow up together exactly, but they grew up nearby, sharing the same little corner of the world.

Listening to her describe walking into his office and seeing him as her dentist—not the man who called me "the kid"—felt surreal.

For a moment, I wasn't just remembering Gerry.

I was meeting a version of him that existed long before I ever knocked on his front door.

I also got to learn about his children from a completely different perspective.

When Gerry talked about his kids, the sparkle in his eyes said everything.

He was proud.

So incredibly proud.

Every story he told about them was filled with love.

To Gerry, they could do no wrong.

That's how a father sees his children.

But this time, I got to hear about them through someone who watched them grow up alongside her own children.

Not as "Gerry's kids."

Just as kids.

Kids who occasionally got themselves into harmless trouble.

Kids who teased, laughed, and thought they knew everything.

One story, in particular, made me laugh.

Many years ago, my client was watching her husband play in a tennis match. One of Gerry's daughters was sitting in front of her with a group of friends, watching an older team take the court.

She confidently said something along the lines of, "Those old guys don't stand a chance. They're about to get their butts handed to them."

My client just smiled.

A little while later, those same "old guys" beat the younger team.

She said Gerry's daughter didn't walk away laughing.

She walked away with her head hanging low after her friends had just been beaten by that team of "old guys."

I couldn't help but laugh.

Not because it was some incredible story...

But because, for just a moment, I wasn't hearing about the adults Gerry loved so dearly.

I was getting to meet the kids who made him so proud.

Every story added another brushstroke to a portrait I thought was already finished.

It's funny how a city can feel so big...

Yet somehow still hold these little small-town moments.

The kind where one conversation unexpectedly brings someone you love back into the room.

The more I listened, the more I realized something.

I wasn't missing Gerry because I had forgotten pieces of him.

I was missing him because there were still pieces left to discover.

He traveled the world.

He collected stories everywhere he went.

And now, somehow, his own story keeps finding its way back to me.

I leave those visits with a full heart.

Sometimes I laugh.

Sometimes I cry in the truck before heading to my next client.

But every single time, I leave grateful.

Grateful that I knew him.

Grateful that people still tell his stories.

Grateful that in a world that feels so big, there are still little moments that remind us we're all connected.

People say grief means letting go.

I don't think that's true anymore.

I think grief is learning to carry someone differently.

Sometimes through a favorite saying.

Sometimes through a painting.

Sometimes through an unexpected conversation.

And sometimes...

Through the stories someone else remembers.

So if you're reading this, from up above Gerry...

Thank you.

Your story didn't end when your life did.

It keeps showing up in conversations.

In memories.

In laughter.

And in the people lucky enough to have known you.

You built me while you were here.

And somehow...

You're still building me today.

love your,

“Kid”

Kayla Cares LLC | Where personalized care meets the comfort of your home | 605-510-7952 | Providing trusted, compassionate care in the Black Hills.