Marc Moss: [00:00:00] Welcome to the Tell Something podcast. I’m your host, Mark Moss, founder and executive director of Tell Something. The next tell us something event is October 7th, 2025. The theme is, welcome the Wild Side. You can learn about how to pitch your story and get tickets at Tell us something. Dot org this week on the podcast.

Hammy: That was the first thought I have gonorrhea. The second immediate thought was the place I need to go to treat this gonorrhea is my first day at the health department. I thought, oh my God, this is gonna suck. I get dressed. For some reason, I decided to put on white underwear. To this day, I don’t understand why I chose white.

Katie Van Dorn: And I probably should have figured it out, but I didn’t. And I came outta surgery with my right leg, an inch and a half shorter than my left, and I was pod to say [00:01:00] the least, and a doctor said, well, that’s the way it has to be. So it just was

Marc Moss: four storytellers share their true personal story on the theme.

Lost and found.

Karna Sundby: When I found his body, I just started screaming and screaming and ran into the house, grabbed the phone, and started dialing my parents in Illinois. When I realized I can’t just keep screaming when they answered the phone and I can’t stop, I hung up. I look over and there’s a copy of the kinmen.

Kara Adolphson: The campus newspaper sat right there and on. It is a photo of the art exhibit from the day before Kismet. I’m gonna read that, so I drag it over. And I unfold it so that the page drops down and that’s what I see underneath the photo.

Marc Moss: Their stories were recorded. Live in person on June 30th, 2025 at Ogren Park at Allegiance Field in Missoula, Montana.

Closing out Pride Month. On this episode of the podcast, we’re trying out something a little [00:02:00] different. Tell us something. Board member Beth Ann Osteen generously offered to bring in a professional sound engineer to better capture the feeling of a live event. We’re going to try to keep the essence of the live evening by using the storyteller introductions as I introduce the storytellers the night of the event.

As usual, I’ll give a little teaser of the story before the storyteller shares their story. We’d love to hear from you what you think. Shoot me an email and let me know how you like the new format. You can email me at info at tell us something. Dot org. Love it. Hate it. Let me know what you think. Thanks.

Huge thanks. Goes out to the Greater Montana Foundation who encourages communication on issues, trends, and values of importance to Montanans. We are so grateful to the Greater Montana Foundation for their support to make the June event possible. Tell us something acknowledges that this land where Ogre Park, [00:03:00] uh, ogre Park now stands, is the ancestral territory of the Salish and Kalispell peoples who have stewarded it for generations.

Summertime is traditionally the primetime for indigenous peoples to gather various berries and roots that are in season while the bitterroot are already harvested. Now is the time for processing and storing any remaining bitterroot that have been gathered. Another staple canvas bulbs are being dug and prepared for storage huckleberry’s service.

Berries and choke cherries are ripening and being harvested for immediate consumption and for drying to preserve in winter. We take this moment to honor its land and the native people in the stories that they share with us to honor them, you can support the ongoing efforts of the Confederated Salish and Kni tribes by learning about their cultural initiatives.

And advocating for indigenous rights, more information can be found@kskt.org.[00:04:00]

In our first story, hammy shares his tale about family faith, and finding yourself what starts as a journey of self-discovery after a life altering decision. Takes an unexpected turn leading to a hilarious and surprising public health crisis on the very first day of a new job. Sometimes life’s most challenging moments can also be the most liberating.

Hammy calls his story, Ham’s First Day at the Health Department. Thanks for listening.

Hammy: Hello everyone. My name’s Hammy, and before I begin, I need to tell everyone that I just grew up loving my family. I, me, my mom, my brother, my sister, my dad. We were all so very close. Um, also, I never really heard my parents fighting at all, which was pretty cool. They would always fight about religion, though.

You see, my [00:05:00] dad was Roman Catholic and my mom’s a Jehovah’s Witness. And, uh, their son had a secret. Um, so I always knew that I had to, I always knew that one day I was gonna make this decision. And I, I tried, I prayed, I, I did the baptism, I did the conversion therapy. And when I was 27 years old, I finally realized I couldn’t do it anymore.

So I, uh, kind of, kind of came out. I, I started downloading the dating apps. I started dating. And I met this boy. There’s this beautiful man in Indiana and I decided to, to get married. Someone go, woo Indiana. Yeah. Um, don’t hear that often. So, uh, he, he just completely swept me up. And I, I came out and, uh, sure enough, my church gave me that phone call and they excommunicated me and my mom, my brother, my sister, my cousins, my friends, everyone.

Dead. That’s it. They just, I believe the church said they handed me over to [00:06:00] Satan. And I’m like, that is a little dramatic. I’m the gay one. Easy there, Satan. Um, but anyways, we were married for five years. We had a good relationship and till one day he decided that he didn’t wanna be married anymore. And so I thought, well, I, I left my family to marry you and, and you change your mind and, and that’s okay.

But what am I gonna do? I knew I wasn’t staying in, in, in Indiana, so, um, I, I wanted to go home. Everything in my body told me I gotta go home. I have to go home. And I knew that if I went home, I would get sucked into the church again. And I knew I would just end up killing myself. ’cause I would just, I would be conflicted.

So I decided to do one of those, you know, eat, pray, love things and just go find myself. But I really don’t like Europe, so I just came to Montana instead. So I got, I got a job at Yellowstone and in Big Sky and I did all those kind of things of working seasonal [00:07:00] jobs. And I finally decided what I wanted to do more than anything was.

Work in public health. I was in a first responder and then in occupational health and now I was in public health, so I got accepted back into a public health program online and I got a job at the Gallatin County Health Department. And so my very first day, right, well, let me actually back up just a minute.

After I, um, came off the mountain, uh, the girl was in heat. Let me tell you. I was divorced. I was in a new city. It was, I was feeling good about myself. You know, the grinder notifications were rolling in. So, uh, I had a lot of fun that first weekend. Now that morning, on my first day at the health department, I woke up and I went to go take a piss and I thought, shit, it started burning.

I said, this can’t be good. Maybe I’m just dehydrated. So I hop in the shower and I look down and this discharge is coming out. Well, you know what? We don’t need to get too [00:08:00] graphic, but I think I knew exactly what it was. That was the first thought. Shit, I have gonorrhea. The second immediate thought was the place I need to go to treat this gonorrhea is my first day at the health department.

I thought, oh my God, this is gonna suck. So I go to the I I, I get dressed. For some reason, I decide to put on white underwear. To this day, I don’t understand why I chose white, but I loaded up on underwear and I headed into work. And I thought, I don’t know what I’m gonna tell them. I don’t know if I’m gonna just keep it kind of quiet.

Um, but then they’re all gonna know they’re gonna do the contact tracing. So I met the health officer and she says, hello James. Welcome my, my real name’s James. She says, hello James, welcome. And I said, hello, and I have gonorrhea and I’m gonna have to talk to someone. And she says, okay, um, let’s get your boss, who’s the communicable disease manager.

Uh, and I’m like, of course, that makes total sense. So I tell her. I’m like, Hey. And then I kind of do it like at, by [00:09:00] that point I kind of go on like this one man show where I’m just telling everybody they got the first two out. So like epidemiologist, you knew front desk reception. I was letting her know, I just had to own that story.

So they, they arranged the, they, they do the, the follow up and contact tracing at the health department, but they do actually the testing, uh, at a different party. So I go down. Hey, I go get tested, um, and the doctor comes in, I’m like, I have gonorrhea. And she’s like, okay. So I pulled down my pants and then I look down and she looks down and we both notice a bump.

Now this was August, 2022. If anyone in public health knows what was happening around August 20, yes, there it is. Monkey px, m MPOs. She looks, I look, she says, I’ll be right back. Come leaves the room. She comes back in looking like monsters ink. It was head to toe, PPE, the mask, the shield, the gloves. The runway category was PPE, and she crushed it.

So she’s coming in and [00:10:00] so she like takes, you know, and, and. She, she, she starts slicing it. And I’ve only been in, yes, exactly. Oh, because I’ve only been in one public health class my first semester and three days at the health department. And inside I knew, I’m pretty sure it’s a swab, but I’m not gonna tell you like, Hey, by the way, doctor, I’m new to public health.

This is what to do. So she cuts it and as she cuts it, there’s like gonorrhea dripping out of my penis. It is a whole Hello. Yes. Um, there is a whole, it’s, it’s a whole production. So now I gotta call my boss on my way home and be like, Hey, um, they think it might be Empo and I have to quarantine. So Do you guys have like a remote or a computer?

Yeah, like a pickup. They were very great. The, the health department, I’ll tell you when, when they say you have, these, were all strangers and you have to rely on, on the, the compassion and kindness of strangers. They were all absolutely amazing. And, uh, they just re reaffirmed my life. And, uh, the people [00:11:00] in Butte, that queer people were being taken care of because there was no stigma.

There was no judgment. They were just right to the facts. Um, so. I get a phone call a couple days later. It’s, it’s negative. Um, for em, PX, gonorrhea, we all knew. Yes, that was, we, we had that one coming. So we get there and she’s, um. So I go back, I go back in and they say, okay, you gotta do your follow-up test.

Or I do my follow-up test and uh, they call me back. They say everything’s negative. We just wanted you to come back in one last time for a shot of penicillin. I thought, okay, that’s fine. Gimme a shot of pen penicillin. I wait a couple weeks. I go on another date. Now I have to go to Butte for this date. I go to Butte.

I first time, I think it’s really fun. Here I go. Have a nice beautiful morning with Clayton. His name was a wonderful man. We’re just having some coffee and he says, you know, we like to get lunch. He. I said, yeah, I just want to let you know I’m allergic to seafood. And he says, okay, well we’re in Butte, so relax.

Um, and [00:12:00] then, uh, I said, are you allergic to anything? He said, it’s just penicillin. And I said, okay, well, we can’t have sex after lunch because I might give you penicillin. Uh, I had gonorrhea. And they had, it wasn’t, but then thought it was monkeypox, but it wasn’t that, but it was gonorrhea actually. So if I can transmit it, I’m not, I’m only in my, like, third week of public health right now, so I don’t really know how all of this works.

Um, he said, I just want, I just wanna buy you lunch. So, uh, good guy. So that, that’s, that’s thinking about that now, you know, getting lost. Getting found was I, was I lost when I came out here? I think a little bit, and I think we’re always a little bit lost, right? Because that’s so, it makes life kind of exciting.

And, um, have I been found? Well, I found a really good therapist. Um, thank God for her. Uh, uh, I, uh, found a community. A [00:13:00] family. My partner Clayton, he stayed with me by the way. Uh, great guy by the way. Doug is here. Oh. Um, by the way, every interaction since then is always that of me being like, I have a wild story.

And him being like, sure. So it’s like the perfect relationship. Uh, and, uh, I, I found a great community in, in Butte. Uh, it’s such a wonderful town. Thank you to Missoula. Butte. It’s able to hang a pride flag. We got that passed. So thank you guys. Thank you Missoula for that. Um, but. In, in conclusion of this story, I, I try to talk openly about this.

I don’t want us to feel like we ever have to hold in that shame, that darkness. ’cause I know what that darkness does when we bring that darkness to the light in front of strangers. Um, just sharing our stories, we’re able to own that, right? So thank you guys so much for having me here. I appreciate it and I hope you guys enjoy the rest of this time.

Thanks, Marc.[00:14:00]

Marc Moss: Hammy is thrilled to be sharing his story tonight. He works in occupational safety, health and risk management. He is the founder and creative director of Queer Butte Arts and Culture, a new group celebrating local, queer art, queer culture, and local queer history. Last year he was named one of Southwest Montana’s 20 under 40, and this year he was honored as the young professional of the year by the Butte Local Development Corporation.

He is a homosexual and he lives in Butte with his partner Clayton. Also, a homosexual

ham is passionate about harm reduction, ending stigma, and walking on his hands. Above all, hammy believes that storytelling can save lives. In our next story, Katie Van Dorn recounts a childhood marked by an unexpected physical challenge to a life defined by adventure and a [00:15:00] relentless pursuit of wellness.

Katie’s journey is filled with extraordinary feats, unexpected setbacks, and profound self-discovery. Katie calls her story, the cracks are how the light gets in. Thanks for listening.

Katie Van Dorn: Wow. The only time I hold a mic like this is when I am in a room all by myself. So now I’ve gotta see all these faces. Anyway, um, well, good evening everybody. Have you ever heard the joke about the lost dog with three legs blind in his left eye, missing an ear and no tail? Well that dog answers to the name of Lucky and my, my brother used to call him.

Say that I was that dog named Lucky. And, and the reason for that is, is it began at birth. I was born with a dislocated hip and I was a [00:16:00] cesarean baby. So either the doctor pulled too hard or they, um, or somehow they didn’t check my hip at birth. So around. Age two, my parents finally discovered that I had a dislocated hip when I fell and couldn’t get up.

And, um, so I was braced, just, uh, just tucked in and kept in a brace. And I would be standing in the yard in the patio just spreading, go like this with my brother and sister running all around me. And a little tiny dog named Clyde would just knock me over flat on my back. And, uh. And so anyway, I, um, that actually did wondrous for me.

It, it sent me on my way. And I, because I grew up in Lala as Mark said, I, um, I was able to swim and, and surf body surf, and. Hike and run and all that. My childhood wasn’t affected, but at high school I started to have a lot of hip pain again, and so [00:17:00] I went to the orthopedic surgeon and he said, well, you need a pelvic osteotomy.

In other words, a total restructuring of my right hip, and basically it just rotates your. Acetabulum your socket straight down instead of down and out. And that actually six weeks, um, in a body cast, then seven months on crutches. And the body cast was like, my parents had to have a baby all over again.

They had to come give me the bed pan and water and food and everything. And I, um, I was not a happy baby. Um, and so anyway, I, uh. I got through that and it was like, I felt like the lucky dog. It was pretty miraculous. I was able to run, I was, I started school at the University of California Davis and I was able to run a half marathon and I just really got into running and I also got into swimming.

Um, I used to swim in the ocean, but I started swimming in a pool with a master’s program and the coach [00:18:00] there asked me if I wanted to do a race from. Lanai to Maui in Hawaii, swimming across the channel. And so I did that and it was a pretty neat experience with huge swells. And some of the, some of the swimmers were seasick ’cause the boat had to go as slow as the swimmer.

But I did it and it just fueled my love of adventure and my desire for more. And soon thereafter, I was invited to cook at a guest ranch in the cell way, bitter wilderness. And that was my introduction to Montana. And so I went back and cooked for five summers. I loved it. I would run along the river’s edge and jump into big pools.

And so for five years, I alternated summers in the cell way and winters cooking at a guest or at a restaurant at the top of Aspen or snow mass. Mountain and then I decided, okay, I gotta, I need a real job. So I went back to school in exercise physiology and learned about how, how exercise and nutrition [00:19:00] and all sorts of things factor into.

Staying healthy. And uh, but then soon after I graduated for my, got my master’s, once again, my hip was bothering me. So now I was facing surgery number three, and this was from the femoral side instead of the pelvic side. And I probably should have figured it out, but I didn’t. And I walk, came outta surgery with my right leg, an inch and a half shorter than my left, and I was.

POed to say the least. And, um, the, the, you know, doctor said, well, that’s the way it has to be. So it just was so, I just learned to use poles for hiking and I put lifts in on, in and outside of my shoe and I got a lot of body work. And my name used to be Katie Bodywork, van Dorn. And to this day I live by that principal, but I met my husband around that time and he also loved hug.

Hiking Ray, he’s up there [00:20:00] and, um, so we did a lot of adventures that involved hiking, trapper Peak, Lolo Peak, et cetera. And he, if I got sore, he would give me a piggyback and just bounce my, my hips around until I was. Good to go again. And, uh, so anyway, that, uh, went on. And then around 2001, when I was 45 years old, I decided to have a hip replacement.

And to tell you the truth, that was a very lucky experience because to this day, I still have that hip and it works wonderfully. I might have a. Funky gate, but it still works. And, um, and so because of that good surgery, we decided to do this ski trip from Finland, in Finland, from Russia to Sweden. And we skied about 40, uh, about 40 to 50 miles a day for seven days.

And that, again, was, was quite an adventure. And what I realized with both swimming and [00:21:00] skiing is that they’re very rhythmical. And so if you just put a piece of music like Taco Bell’s cannon in your head, you can just. Get into the flow. And so, um, so we, I did a lot of skiing and then I, um, because of this funky gait, I found myself needing knees, two of them in 2014.

And so I went back and I had, um, knee surgery. And again, that was so fortunate. It just flowed. So well, and, um, I had, I still to this day have the knees and the hip, and they both do really well. But what happened a few years later was that I started to have foot pain, left foot pain, and I, um, and I consulted doctors after trying ibuprofen and tons of steroid shots.

I kept pushing myself, pushing myself, and finally the doctor [00:22:00] said, you know what? You’ve, you’ve your foot. Uh, talus bone, which is your landing pad, has collapsed and your only option is amputation. Cut that off. And I said, I’m gonna cut my head off before I cut any foot off. And I, um, I meant it. And, um, so I.

Um, and this was the first time that there wasn’t a solution. There was always solutions to all these things. This is the first time when I thought, okay, you’ve got to figure this one out for yourself. And um, Henry David Throw once said that, not until we are lost. Can we begin to find ourselves? So I sought out, um, a lot of alternative medicine.

I got stem cells and prolotherapy and platelet rich plate plasma, and I, I sought it all out to try to help the foot. At least structurally. And then my mom passed, happened to pass away in the middle of all this. So I had time to [00:23:00] just go inward and think about, okay, what, what have I done wrong here? Maybe I’ve been, um.

Not a nice person because I lost my SOLE, but I felt like I needed my SOUL saved, and so I tried to do a lot of meditation and studying neuroscience and y. Um, how meditation can help that. And I studied energy medicine and I studied restorative yoga. And I, I just went, just went deep for three years. I just kind of hid out and all my friends up there were with me when, you know, I, Ray would put on his, his ski closer, his running shoes, and go to, to go out and exercise and I would start crying and I just would always be in tears.

And finally after a lot of work and it internally and a lot of outside work, little by little my foot started to be a little less blue [00:24:00] and so did I, and less swollen. And gradually I was able to do more and more. First I could walk without the brace. I had a A FO brace on my foot, and then I could. Walk a little bit longer and then I could double pull cross country skiing.

And finally, in 2022, I hiked to jump top a jumbo for the first time and I just wept. And um. With joy and gratitude. And ever since then I’ve really thought, okay, you’ve gotta be grateful for this body. ’cause you know, it’s, it’s pieced together. Lots of, lots of replaced parts, and so you’ve gotta take good care of it and honor it.

And when it doesn’t wanna do something, let go. Just let it go. And so. I wanna summarize my story, my lost and found story with a, a little verse from one of my favorite Museum, museum [00:25:00] musicians, Leonard Cohen. And the song is called Anthem. He says, ring the bells that still can ring. Forget your perfect offering.

There is a crack in everything, and that’s how the light gets in. Thank you.

Marc Moss: Katie Van Dorn

is originally from Lala, California. Katie studied exercise physiology at the University of Montana. She is passionate about the outdoors and is a compassionate real estate agent who has been caring for home buyers and sellers alike in Missoula for over 20 years. Katie loves hiking, cross country skiing, swimming, gardening, and cooking.

You may have heard her freeform show on Montana Public Radio, where she is a rotating host and producer of Thursday freeform coming up after the break.

Karna Sundby: When I found [00:26:00] his body, I just started screaming and screaming and ran into the house, grabbed the phone, and started dialing my parents in Illinois. When I realized I can’t just keep screaming when they answered the phone and I can’t stop, I hung up.

Kara Adolphson: I look over and there’s a copy of the caman. The campus newspaper sat right there and on. It is a photo of the art exhibit from the day before Kismet. I’m gonna read that, so I drag it over and I unfold it so that the page drops down and that’s when I see underneath the photo.

Marc Moss: That’s next on the Tell Us Something podcast.

Remember that. The next tell us something event is October 7th. You can learn about how to pitch your story and get tickets@tellussomething.org. Thanks to our media sponsors, Missoula events.net and Missoula Broadcasting Company. Learn more about Missoula Broadcasting Company and listen [00:27:00] online@missoulabroadcastingcompany.com.

Thanks to our in-kind sponsors, float Missoula. Learn more@floatmsla.com and Joyce of tile.

Joyce Gibbs: Hi, it’s Joyce from Joyce of Tile. If you need tile work done, give me a shout. I specialize in custom tile installations. Learn more and see some examples of my work@joyceoftile.com.

Marc Moss: Alright, let’s get back to the stories.

You are listening to the Tell Us Something podcast. I’m Marc Moss, opening up the second half of this episode of the Tell Us Something Podcast. Karna Sundby goes on a blind date in Seattle, which leads to a whirlwind, romance and a life that feels like a dream when an unimaginable tragedy strikes. One woman’s world shatters, forcing her to confront the deepest of despair, follow her incredible journey through loss, unexpected healing, and the profound discovery of purpose amidst the pain.

Know that Karna’s story speaks frankly [00:28:00] about suicide. Karna calls her story, finding the gift. Thanks for listening.

Karna Sundby: Hello everybody. Can you hear me?

Come with me to Seattle. It’s after work and I’m on an escalator, headed up to a restaurant, and I’m feeling anxious and wondering why am I doing this? I get to the top and sitting on a couch is a very handsome man. Eyeing the escalator, he stands up, flashes me. A big smile, has perfect teeth, and maybe this blind date isn’t such a bad idea.

After all, we sit in the bar for hours telling stories about our families, our sales careers, his love of sailing, my passion for skydiving and all of our bizarre blind dates. Later, we would [00:29:00] agree that it seemed like a reunion. Like we already knew each other, maybe from some other time. His name was Ed, and his gentle spirit won my heart.

We spent almost every weekend on his sailboat, which was so relaxing and so exhilarating when you’re keeled over and the spinnaker’s out, slicing through the the swales, and then there’s nothing so tranquil as being lulled to sleep. By waves slapping against the hull of a gently rocking boat. Eventually we moved into a guest house, I mean a, a house on the Puget Sound, and it was summer in Seattle.

We were so happy. Life was so good. As I got to know him over the next couple years, I felt we had the happiest relationship of anybody that I knew. He was more quiet with other people than he was with me, and so I started [00:30:00] thinking of him as the strong, silent type. We were both in sales and I realized that he never should have been.

There was just too much pressure, too many quotas, too many, too much selling, and so I wish that he had had some different kind of career. We never had an argument. I never saw him upset or. Depressed until one November night. And then when I asked him what was wrong, he said it was his job. And I said, well, ed, you can find a different job, but I’d never seen him despondent like this.

And I didn’t know how to support him. So I just thought, well, I’ll just let it be. Let him watch Monday Night football and we’ll talk about this more tomorrow. But for us, there would be no, tomorrow I was 42 years old. Living a charmed life with the man of my dreams. Those dreams died the next day when I came home from work and found him dead.

[00:31:00] He had chosen to end his life. When I found his dead body, I just started screaming and screaming and ran into the house, grabbed the phone, and started dialing my parents in Illinois. When I realized I can’t just keep screaming when they answer the phone and I can’t stop, I hung up. Yeah, just then my neighbor shouted.

I called 9 1 1 and whoosh. All of my freaking out parts just came rushing back together and I thought, help us on the way. Maybe he’s not dead, maybe they can save him. The firetruck came very quickly and got him out of the, the car. We’re trying to resuscitate him on the driveway. It was so unbelievable. I ran into the house to get a pillow for his head.

I remember standing against this post just praying out loud. I swear I could hear the sound of my life shattering on the concrete. When I realized he was gone. I now know [00:32:00] that he’d been fired from that job for not making his sales skull. And later I would find a box of mail that he didn’t want me to see.

Debts a recent bill from the IRS with six years of unpaid taxes. The strong, silent type with secrets that I would never find answers for the next year was hell, full of dark emotions, sorrow to pray, despair, hopelessness, and I needed community to heal. So I went to visit some dear girlfriends in the LA area and happened to be there when the Northridge earthquake happened.

We were talking until late into the night when suddenly the earth just started quaking. The walls were shuttering, shirking violently back and forth, and it was dark as a tomb, and there was this dead silence except for my friends shouting, are you okay? Are you okay? They were [00:33:00] diving for door jambs and hiding under fufu furniture.

I was laying on the ground spread eagle in front of a plate glass window that went from the floor to the ceiling, hoping that it would shatter and kill me. And I’d made an instant decision that if it broke and didn’t kill me, I’d take a shard of glass and slip my juggler vein and no one would know that I had done it.

That’s how much I didn’t wanna be here. I wished that I could die, but I knew the pain of suicide. There was just this constant ache. This. Empty, endless hole that nothing could fill. And there were the nightmares that first year. It was a supportive family, friends, grief counseling and a spiritual connection that got me through the tough times.

I wanted to be free of the bad dreams. So I went to a professional. That first session was pretty scary because she wanted to take me back into the garage. The source [00:34:00] of the, the sight of the. Bad dreams where I would wake up in a cold, sweaty panic, sometimes screaming. But what she said made sense that I had, I was reliving it because that’s the way my brain had recorded it and that we needed to rewire my brain.

So she taught me how to disassociate in a healthy way from the event so that I could observe it instead of live it. After two sessions, I never had a nightmare again. After a few more sessions, I was blown away at how much better I was feeling no longer merely surviving. I was thriving. The modality was called NLP, which stands for Neural Linguistic Programming, and I decided I wanna help people heal from their trauma.

So I went to school, became a master practitioner of neural linguistic programming. [00:35:00] And when I first started working with clients, it was the most fulfilling thing I ever experienced in my life. It was such a gift, and there were other gifts that came from this tragedy, the gift of compassion. When I felt such deep pain, it led me to such deep compassion for human suffering.

I don’t know if I could have become someone who cares so much what people go through if I hadn’t gone through so much myself. That was such a gift, and another gift that I received was learning how to forgive. If I hadn’t been able to forgive the people that I wanted to blame, I think I’d still be haunted by this tragedy stuck forever in the past.

Maybe even using it as an excuse for why I couldn’t be happy or successful in life. But I like what Nelson Mandela says about forgiveness. To stay [00:36:00] in a state of non forgiveness is like me drinking poison, expecting the other guy to die. I didn’t wanna drink the poison, so I became someone who can forgive easily, and that is a great gift.

Another gift that I received was I learned how to feel all my feelings, no matter how dark they were, without being afraid of feeling them. I learned the truth of grieving, which is this, to heal you must feel. When I, when Ed first died, I never thought I’d be happy again, and I sure never thought I’d fall in love, but maybe it’s because I was willing to so deeply feel that I was able to truly heal my broken heart and create new dreams.

I’ve been with my amazing husband, Kirk, now for 24 years. Actually, it’ll be [00:37:00] 24 years on July 7th, and I would need that my whole 10 minutes up here to tell you what a wonderful man he is. I’m gonna start crying. So communicative. So reliable. So passionate about life and handsome. With perfect teeth.

When I first met Kirk, I realized that for me, some of the grief work was only gonna be completed when I was in a relationship again, and he was willing to walk that path with me bringing us so close able to talk about everything. I created new dreams with him, like moving back to Missoula where I went to college.

Our life is so good and I’m so grateful that I didn’t die in that earthquake. That I live to find this joy and I love my work. I love to help people transform. And when I help somebody heal their trauma, their depression, their PTSD, you know, the [00:38:00] really deep stuff, it means the world to me. I feel like I’m doing the work that I’m meant to do.

Do I think about Ed very much? Not so much when there’s a, some, you know, anniversary. Yes. When I hear of another suicide, yes, but when I heard that the theme tonight was lost and found, I thought maybe I would like to tell my story. I lost so much. I lost the man I loved. I lost my hopes. I lost my dreams, and I found so much.

I found my passion. I found meaningful work. I found my life’s calling, and maybe I was destined to work with people to help them heal their trauma. And maybe I wouldn’t have found my destiny without this tragedy. So the whole experience has brought me to develop kind of a new core belief in life, which is that when the really tough times happen, maybe there’s a gift in there [00:39:00] somewhere.

And if we can just keep our eyes and our ears and our hearts open, maybe somehow will be guided to find a gift amidst the pain. Thank you.

Marc Moss: Karna Sundby’s journey of self-discovery has led her to explore various paths in life. From teaching meditation to a successful career in corporate sales, what has always driven her most is the desire to make a difference. Often the toughest times in life are the ones which break us open and forge within us a deep well of compassion.

Her story tonight is about one of those times when a terrible tragedy led to a precious gift. Closing out this episode of the Tell Us Something podcast. Kara [00:40:00] Adolphsen is a college freshman, grappling with a secret grief. Kara vows to herself that she will navigate her new life and grief silently. But on the anniversary of a profound loss, an unexpected invitation leads to an art exhibit, a surprising discovery and a breakthrough moment of joy and healing.

Kara calls her story finding humor after loss. Thanks for listening.

Kara Adolphson: Hello out there.

The first day of my freshman year in college was on the six month anniversary of my best friend’s death, and I had just come from this small Montana town where all of my day-to-day interactions had shifted from, Hey Kara, how’s it going? To, Hey Kara, how are you? [00:41:00] And I became so desperate to get away from that, that I moved as quickly and as early as I possibly could here to the University of Montana campus.

And as I arrived in the town that my friend and I had planned to move to together without her. I made a solemn vow to myself that I would tell no one that I was grieving, not only because I was so tired of these other sum interactions that I had been having, but also because at 18 I really didn’t have the words to explain what I was going through.

So it became my closest kept secret, and I told no one. I didn’t tell my professors. I didn’t tell my new bosses. I didn’t tell any new peers that I met. I didn’t even tell my [00:42:00] roommate that I lived in a proverbial shoebox with. It was truly a secret, but the thing about grief is that it tends to show up even when it’s uninvited, especially when it’s uninvited.

And my grief really showed up in my poor academic performance my freshman year. I had a hard time attending my classes, let alone doing anything to pass them. I practically flunked out my very first semester. I lost all of my academic scholarships, and while that was really difficult to hold. For anyone out there who has experienced grief, you can corroborate that.

One of the more difficult emotions to hold when you’re grieving is surprisingly joy. These two seemingly opposite emotions are hard to balance at [00:43:00] the same time, and it’s something that took me years of practice to master. But one thing during this year that really cracked open this joy for me was I, of course, met a boy and he really brought that glimmer back into my life.

I could tell that he could see through the facade that I was offering, and he was treating me like a normal person. And even so still, I couldn’t tell him about my grief. And as the year continued on and the seasons changed, and winter was preparing to give way into spring, there was this horrible date that was approaching, which was the one year anniversary of my friend’s death.

And I could tell pretty quickly that I wasn’t gonna be able to handle it very well. So I was [00:44:00] making plans of how I could kind of cancel the day and pretend that it. Didn’t even happen. And on the night before the one year anniversary, I was sitting in my dorm room predating calling out of work, canceling my classes, shocker, and just hiding away in my room.

And that’s when I heard a familiar ping on my laptop. A Facebook message because the year was 2013 and we still, Facebook messaged each other to communicate. And so I went over and it was a message from this boy and it said, Hey, what are you doing tomorrow? I thought, well, nothing. And he said, how would you feel about coming to one of my classes with me?

I thought, well, that’s really bizarre. Um, but what class? And he said, just show up. You’ll find out when you get there. So I agreed, [00:45:00] having no idea what I was agreeing to. The University of Montana offers over 300 different courses, including things like acrobatic trampoline class, so it really could have been anything.

But the next morning, instead of hiding away from the world as I had planned, I went out into it. And I went over to the social sciences building on campus, which is a kind of catchall building for a lot of classes to meet this boy. I went up to the third floor to a room that I knew was a lecture hall, hoping that I could walk in and blend in with the crowd.

But when I opened the door to that room, there was maybe 15 people in that room. There was no blending in, but I went in anyway and I sat down next to this boy and I said. Where am I? And he said, well, this is my art history class. I said, okay. [00:46:00] And right then the professor says, well, class, as you know, today is our big field trip day, so gather your belongings.

We’re leaving right now. Okay, so I get up with the rest of the class and we leave and we go all the way downstairs in the same building. There are student art exhibits on the first floor, and the class was to go around and just meander around the exhibits and make of them what you will. And this boy, he was beaming, so excited.

Because at some point over the last several months, I had told him that I love art, but what he doesn’t know that’s more salient to me on this day is that my friend, she really loved art. And so somehow on the one year anniversary. [00:47:00] I’m there at an art exhibit and as we go in, I’m pretty novice to the whole art exhibit scene.

So I’m breezing past the artist statements and I’m really taking like a vibes based approach to what’s in the room. And I walk into the very first exhibit. In The first display is this giant block of ice being melted by sound.

And I thought, oh no, I have no idea what this means, but I’m staring at this block of ice and this boy is staring at me staring at the block of ice. And I think you gotta say something brilliant. So I say something to the effect of, well, we’re all blocks of ice and. We’re all slowly melting. I’m having a rather existential day.

Mind you. [00:48:00] And he loves it and it encourages me to go authentically through the rest of the exhibit. So we go through serpentine all of the different art that’s on display until we enter the final room. Which is this magnificent display of all of these different hourglass shaped ceramic sculptures in all different shapes and sizes.

There’s one that’s four feet tall. There’s some on pedestals, like flower vases. There’s a hundred of them pinned up in a grid system, repeating over and over again, and I tell him how very. Warhol that is or something, and we spend a lot of time in this exhibit. We’re really enjoying it. And at the end, there’s this huge container of tiny versions of this sculpture that the viewers get to take home.

Perfect. We dig [00:49:00] through this container. We’re reaching to the bottom. We’re pulling them up to see how the glaze shines in the light. We’re rolling them in our palms to see the texture and the weight, and he finds one that he thinks speaks to him. I find one that speaks to me. We slip them in our pockets and we leave.

And as I made my way back to my dorm room, I was overcome with gratitude, how on a day that I had planned to disappear, I had been seen and really seen. And that night as I laid down in bed, I took my sculpture and I gave it a big kiss and I tucked it under my pillow, just warmed by the events from that day.

The next morning I even took it with me to the food Zoo for breakfast, and I went to the Food Zoo, the campus cafeteria, and I sat down with my cereal and my orange juice [00:50:00] and I look over and there’s a copy of the Caman. The campus newspaper sat right there and on. It is a photo of the art exhibit from the day before Kismet.

I’m gonna read that. So I drag it over and I unfold it so that the page drops down and that’s when I see underneath the photo in rather large writing. University butt plug exhibit is a huge success, and that’s when I realized that my sweet sculpture is in fact, yes. And I let out the biggest belly laugh that I had in a very long time, and it was during that time of tremendous loss for me that I found my sense of humor about life again.

Thank you,[00:51:00]

Marc Moss: Kara Adolphson. Kara is a Montanan community member, therapist and storyteller who finds joy in the arts, the outdoors, and Bluebird days in Missoula. She believes in the power of vulnerability, humor, and shared experience to bring people together, a lover of language and listening. Kara is committed to fostering connection, whether it is in the counseling room on a trail or around the dinner table.

Coming up in the next episode of the Tell Us Something podcast.

Aunvada Being: I asked him if he wanted to open up and he jumped at it. He was thrilled and that was shocking to me and also terrifying. And I’m, I wish that maybe I had been a bit more terrified.

Jilnar Mansour: Here I am in a refugee camp in Palestine with four other Americans, and what we’re doing is we’re witnessing the let up of a curfew.[00:52:00]

Curfew is. Something that was happening then and is still happening now where people are not able to leave their home for hours or days at a time.

Steve Schmidt: I take position on the left side of the doorway. My partner fills in the position of the right side of the doorway, and we fill this space naturally. Our guns are drawn because we’re searching this residence.

And I yell, sir, on the sixth day, I, I got a phone call and there

Lauren Tobias: was three kids on the other line and they were calling from the Wolf Point Pizza Joint. I was like, hello? They were like, all they said was, we found your dog.

Marc Moss: Listen to the concluding stories from the June, 2025 live event that closed out Pride Month.

The theme was lost and found. Subscribe to the podcast so you’ll be sure to catch those incredible stories. You can find us on Instagram, Facebook, YouTube, and Blue Sky and visit Tell us something.org. To explore 14 years of our story archives [00:53:00] and let me know what you thought of the new format. You can email me at info@tellussomething.org to share your thoughts.

Live recording by the recording Studio in Missoula, Montana, podcast production by me, Marc Moss Remember that the next tell us something event is October 7th. You can learn about how to pitch your story and get tickets@tellussomething.org.

Marc Moss: [00:00:00] Welcome to the Tell Us Something podcast. I’m Mark Moss, your host, founder, and executive director of Tell Us Something. The next tell us something event is October 7th. Theme is Welcome the Wild Side. You can learn about how to pitch your story and get tickets@tellussomething.org this week on the podcast.

Nita Maddox: He walks up and he’s got this completely unredeemable action adventure movie, and I pull up his account and it’s just bad movie choices and $50 in late fees, and he tries to introduce himself again, and I was like. Listen buddy. You have terrible taste in movies. You owe $50, you’re gonna need to pay us $20 of those late fees.

Take your crappy movie and kick rocks.

Joyce Gibbs: And so I run around to the back where the, where the nesting area is while she’s eating her food. And I open up the cage or open up the back of the hutch [00:01:00] and there they are. Four furloughs eyeballs closed. Squirmy little. Baby rabbits and they’re squirmy. So much so that one of them falls out of the back of the hutch and lands in the snow and it starts screaming and I

Amanda Taylor: was in it.

So by in it, I mean that by age 16 I had signed a purity contract with God. Really it, it was just a piece of paper that some guy in a church printed, but to me it was from God and I was signing it for him. Plus I took it very seriously and I wore a purity Ring

Marc Moss: three storytellers share their true personal story on the theme.

Be careful what you wish for. Their stories were recorded Live in person on April 4th, 2025 at the Volite [00:02:00] Theater in Butte, Montana. We gathered then on the traditional and unseated lands of the Salish Kni and ponder and Assab peoples whose ancestors have cared for and been stewards of this land for countless generations.

We recognize the deep history, culture, and resilience of the indigenous peoples who lived here long before European settlers arrived. These tribes have been integral to the land, water, and ecosystem of the region, sustaining it through generations of careful stewardship. As we honor their enduring presence, we must also acknowledge the injustices that have been done to these communities.

Displacement. Broken treaties and the ongoing impacts of colonization, including damage done to the earth. This acknowledgement is a reminder of our responsibility to honor and support indigenous communities. One way that we can do this is to support organizations like the Butte Native Wellness Center, the North American Indian Alliance, and get cultural and historical insights at places [00:03:00] like the Butte Cultural Heritage Center.

Remember this, tell us something. Stories sometimes have adult themes. Storytellers sometimes use adult language. Please take care of yourselves. Our first story comes to us from Nita Maddox. A determined single mom navigates the challenges of working four jobs and trying to buy her dream business, a local video store Amidst this chaotic life, a quirky encounter with an unexpected suitor leads to a surprising turn of events.

Just as everything seems to fall into place, a sudden life altering incident challenges her newfound stability and reshapes her entire world. Nita calls her story perfect Blue House. Thanks for listening.

Nita Maddox: So this is also a coming out story. No, it’s not, but maybe it will be. When I was [00:04:00] 25, my daughter was two, and there were two things that we did almost every day.

One was we walked from our little studio apartment on Hickory, down Beckwith up to the University of Montana where she went to daycare and I took classes, and along the way it’s. Started with like low income neighborhood into more middle of the road, and then the big fancy mansions around the university.

And midway there, there was a perfect blue Victorian house, big green lawn, white picket fence, oak tree with a swing. And somewhere along the way we started calling it our house and imagining the life we would lead in it. That seemed so far away from the little studio apartment we were living in. And then on the way home, we would always stop at the Crystal Video store and I actually recognize there might be people in the audience who have no idea what a video store is and when they’re done.

Right. They are amazing places and the [00:05:00] Crystal was one of the best of them. Everybody who worked. There was a writer or a musician or a artist and they knew everything about, um, Peter Green away’s use of Tableau, vivant or S’s use of lone wolf, and there was all these like fabulous shelves just full of other worlds, worlds.

That just expanded what I could imagine in my sometimes feeling a little bit claustrophobic life at that point, seven years later. My daughter is nine. There’s now a 6-year-old brother. I’ve spent two years working in a corporate environment that just didn’t really suit me. We move back to Missoula and I’m working four jobs to make ends meet and try not to touch into my savings.

But one of those jobs is I’m working at the Crystal video store now and the owner. Would very much like to sell the crystal video store and ask me if I wanna buy it. And [00:06:00] so I was trying to put together the resources to buy the video store. Now, one evening I’m working there and this guy comes in and I’ve known him for a while.

And I found him kind of interesting, which was intriguing ’cause he wasn’t really my type. My type was like dark brooding musician and he was kind of tall and blonde, cleft chin, sort of the captain of the football team archetype. And he had met me probably five times prior to that and he never seemed to remember me.

So I kind of was like, I don’t know what I think about this guy. And he walks up and he’s got this completely unredeemable action adventure movie, and I pull up his account and it’s just bad movie choices and $50 in late fees. And he tries to introduce himself again. And I was like. Listen buddy. You have terrible taste in movies.

You owe $50. You’re gonna need to pay us $20 of those late fees. Take your crappy [00:07:00] movie and kick rocks. And that was it. He tried to court me for months. And I was a single mom trying to buy a business, working four jobs, and I had no time for this character. But then he kind of got me and he was like, listen, I just bought this house.

Come over. I’ll make you dinner. You can bring any movie you want. And I show up at the address at the perfect blue Victorian with the green lawn and the white picket fence. And the tree with the swing. And I notice, oh, this is a little wink from fate here, huh? Okay. So we embarked on about three months of a very romantic adventure, and he was surprisingly great about dating a single mom who was working a lot and trying to buy a business.

And then the day came where I signed the papers and put down a ton of money, and I now owned this business that I had really wanted to have, and my daughter and son and [00:08:00] I were crossing the street on Higgins in Missoula to go get ice cream at the Big Dipper to celebrate. And we were run over by a truck in the intersection, and I’m never gonna forget the feeling of grabbing for my daughter’s jacket.

And she was just gone. I don’t, I, my mind couldn’t even comprehend where had she gone. And I looked down and my 6-year-old, his head was right by the bumper of the truck, and I grabbed him and threw him over my head to the sidewalk, just as I noticed this crushing feeling as the tire rolled across my foot.

My daughter spent three months in the hospital and the most of that next year in a wheelchair. She had seven different surgeries, one to reconstruct her face, and during that early phase, that steep uphill climb about learning how to run a business, I was pretty much every day in the hospital and I had just bought a video store right [00:09:00] at the beginning of Netflix being a thing.

So when we kind of normalize when she comes out of the hospital, there’s just so much stress and the only thing I can really remove from the stress is to break up with the guy and he says, you know what? You should just move in with me. That’s gonna make things easier. Which seemed like a good idea other than the fact that we’d only been dating for about six months, but we move into the perfect blue Victorian.

So we’re in our house and I own the business. I’ve always wanted to own and things are normalizing a little bit, but I’m also noticing that I’m really tired and kind of run down. Probably just stress. So I go in for a checkup and then the day before my 33rd birthday, I took my daughter to what was going to be her last doctor’s appointment in this chapter of her life was going to end.

We were gonna schedule the very last surgery. It was really disappointing ’cause they. Some things weren’t [00:10:00] healing correctly and she was gonna need another couple of surgeries and she was pretty bummed. Said, listen, I’ve got a doctor’s appointment, you can come like a follow up appointment, you can come with me to that and then we’ll go do something fun.

So she came with me and I remember. Being in the waiting room and we had the funny little pillow in the exam room and she was chasing me around in her wheelchair, hitting me with this pillow. We were laughing and was like, oh, this is, this is so fun. And then the doctor came in and said that I was gonna have to have another series of tests because it looked like I had non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, which I did.

And that whole dream that out of nowhere I had manifested. Began to dissolve and I sold the business eventually so it wouldn’t get caught up in the medical bankruptcy, and it was a lot of pressure on the relationship and it ended and we moved out of the perfect blue Victorian. Now this story might sound like it’s a tragic story, but actually in the end, [00:11:00] which there isn’t an ending yet, it didn’t end.

All those people are still alive, and to be honest. I was getting some feedback about the story and somebody said, wow, it was so interesting. You were just telling a story and then all of a sudden you get hit by a truck. But that’s the way it works. That’s how trauma works. One day you’re leading one life, and the next that life is never there again.

You’re leading a completely different life. It was this. Rapid reset where we were in this very sweet, normal life and then this giant heroine’s journey for both my daughter and I started, and neither of us has led anything close to a normal life. We have led a very wild creative, yes, full of some more trauma.

Yes, the trauma from that still follows us, but a amazing resilience. C and an incredible lust for life was found in that moment. So that’s the story I’m telling and [00:12:00] that’s the story I’m sticking with.

Marc Moss: Thanks Nita. Nita Maddox is a multi-generational Montanan, born and raised in Whitefish. She has a passion for adventure, even if it is finding something exciting in the produce area at the grocery store. Nita is here on this planet to be seriously playful on the journey. Next up is Joyce Gibbs. As a third grader in Montana, Joyce convinces her parents to get pet rabbits only to discover.

Their true intention is to breed them for food. Despite an early mishap with the first litter, she learns the harsh realities of a farm life. This unique upbringing shapes her understanding of where food comes from, leading to a memorable, albeit somewhat grizzly childhood experience. Joyce calls her story, stew and Pop.

Thanks for listening.[00:13:00]

Joyce Gibbs: Third grade Clinton, Montana, 16 miles east of Missoula. You know, in third grade when you know, there’s, you get the pet, you get the, we had a pet rabbit, so in the back of the classroom is Peter Peter’s in his little cage, and it’s our job to water him and feed him and, and, uh, clean out his cage every once in a while.

That was super fun. And my friend Dina in third grade, I went over to her house one day and she had like 20 pet rabbits and I was like, oh, you can do this at home too. And they had chickens and goats probably, and pigs, you know. But um. [00:14:00] And so I go home and I’m like, mom, dad, I think I want a pet rabbit. And my dad says, well, okay, actually you can have a pet rabbit.

You can have two pet rabbits. We’re gonna get a male one and a female one. And we’re gonna breed them and we’re going to eat. They’re young. I’m like, yep. Uh. Which is fine, you know, uh, my dad was a hunter, so, um, I wasn’t able to like, help him cut up the meat in third grade, but we definitely were like wrapping in butcher paper and I knew where my meat came from and, and, uh, I was like.

Yeah, that sounds like a good thing. I can do that. So, uh, we [00:15:00] go to Dina’s house. Dina’s dad has a super cool hutch that he made that has three different compartments and, uh, it stands off the ground and for the critters, you know, might eat the rabbits. But, um. Each compartment has a nesting area in the back, and then a front door and a back door.

And then, uh, they have these side doors so you can open up those side doors so the rabbits can commingle. And so, uh, we get the hutch and we go to the store and we get, um, these rabbits, uh, one’s white and one’s black. And, and they were short hair and you know, they’re little rabbit size. We got a book on how to raise rabbits, abbot, and we take ’em home.

And we put ’em each in their separate compartments. [00:16:00] And then about a week later we opened up those doors so they could commingle. And they, uh, a couple weeks later, my dad’s like, I don’t really think anything’s happening here, here. Like, okay, so we go talk to Dina’s dad again ’cause he’s got, you know, 20 rabbits and, um.

And he says, oh yeah, those Dina’s dad says, oh yeah, those, those store-bought rabbits. They don’t really sometimes do that, but I’ve got a really good breeding dough. Dough, uh, rabbits are called dough and box. So, um, I got a good breeding dough for you. And we get, we get. This rabbit, she’s got long hair and lop [00:17:00] ears, which are the ones that fall down and she’s this big and um.

We’re, we’re gonna call her Stella. I forgot to mention, um, my dad said, you know, it’s probably not a good idea to. To, uh, name your rabbits, but, but just, you know, we, we should, so, so we’ll call the white one Stew and we’ll call the black one Pot. So, so then we have Stew and Pot and Stella. Thankfully it was a, you know, triplex.

So we get them all co-mingling together. Because part of the book had like drawings of how you could tell male and female, but I could never figure out actually what that drawing meant. So we just let ’em all in there and a [00:18:00] couple weeks later, my dad’s like, yeah, I think something’s happening here. So we uh, we figure out that Stella is pregnant and I’m super excited and it’s sometime in the winter.

Um, one day I’m supposed to, or every day I go out and I feed the rabbits and I, um, their water always freezes over, so I have to like take it in and thaw it out and give them fresh water in the morning. So I’m doing that and I noticed that Stella, I isn’t coming out of the nest and I finally like, bring the food out and the water out and get her to kind of come out of the nest.

And so I run around to the back where the, where the nesting area is while she’s eating her food. And I open up the cage or open up the back of the hutch, and there they are. Four furlough eyeballs, [00:19:00] closed, squirmy, little baby rabbits, and. They’re squirmy. So much so that one of them falls out of the back of the hutch and lands in the snow and it starts screaming.

And so I pick it up and I throw it back in the nest and I shut the door and I lock it. And I go to school and I say, Hey, my rabbit had babies. Hey, did you hear my rabbit had babies? And I go home. And like Stella’s hanging out in the cage and I’m like, cool, I’ll go back there and see. And I open up the hutch and I open it up and there’s no babies in the nest.

And uh, later on that night, I tell this to my parents and they say, yeah. Yeah, you’re a [00:20:00] foreigner. You picked up her baby, you ruined the nest. And she ate all her babies, like, oh yeah.

So the next time Stella got pregnant. I was really patient and after a couple weeks, those little babies came out of the nest into the front part of the hutch and they, uh, and they were super cute and ran around and, uh, I didn’t name them.

Um, and about a month later my dad said, no, it’s probably time to. To harvest those rabbits. So we had two pine trees that grew pretty close to to each other, and he put a board across and he put some,

he put some rope [00:21:00] coming down from the board and he said, bring me a bunny. And I brought the bunny in and he tied ’em up from the legs. And he held them by the ears and he cut off their heads and he put it in a five gallon bucket, and then he gutted ’em, and then he skinned them, and then he handed me this piece of meat.

And I brought it inside and I gave it to my mom and she cleaned it and she wrapped it in butcher paper and she, and we had rabbit stew and we walked the five gallon bucket up to the hill and uh, and dumped it out and left it for the coyotes.[00:22:00]

And we did this a couple times

and eventually one day as we, uh, like six months later as we were coming down the hill with another empty bucket, I said, dad, I don’t think I want any more pet rabbits. Thank you.

Marc Moss: Thanks, Joyce. Joyce Gibbs was raised in Missoula, Montana, tramping through the woods. She grew up to become an artist builder and Tyler. She is a resilient, creative, and adventurous woman. After a brief stint in New York City and then New Orleans, she bought a dilapidated railroad house on Missoula’s historic North Side and spent the next 15 years remodeling it and making it her own.

When she is not busy, building beautiful spaces. With her tile [00:23:00] installations at Joyce of Tile, you can find her riding her motorcycle, gardening and playing. Closing out this episode of the Tele Something podcast is Amanda Taylor. Amanda was raised in a devout Christian community and was committed to purity, vowing to save herself for marriage.

This conviction was challenged when she moved to Switzerland and met a captivating man. A spontaneous trip to a luxurious hot spring with him leads to a pivotal moment of self-discovery, forcing her to confront her deeply held beliefs. Amanda calls her story. Hallelujah. Thanks for listening.

Amanda Taylor: I found my reverence for Jesus Christ in the town of Powell, Wyoming.

It has about 6,000 people. Um, some diners and a lot of churches and I found my community there at church and it was my closest friends and the people that I was most connected [00:24:00] to. And so I was, uh, once I found them, I was locked into that lifestyle. And I was in it. So by, in it, I mean that by age 16 I had signed a purity contract with God.

Um, really it, it was just a piece of paper that some guy in a church printed, but to me it was from God and I was signing it for him as I took it very seriously. And I wore a purity ring, which if you don’t know what any of this means, you’re lucky. But also it, it means that you are making an agreement with God that you will not have sex until you’re married.

It was a long time and so I made that agreement and I wrote letters to my future husband [00:25:00] and I collaged this box of like romantic pictures and bible verses my meticulously folded these letters and put them in it. And I thought, you know, and when we get married I’ll. Give him this box of letters as though that’s like something someone would want.

And I also, I kept a prayer journal and I wrote in it every day. And if I forgot a day, I would ask God to forgive me for forgetting a day. And then I would also ask at the end, please forgive me for any sins that I forgot about. Just to always just making sure all my bases were covered. So that I could end up in heaven with my friends.

Um, luckily I also had an insatiable desire to travel and see the world. So when I was 20, I, um, signed an actual contract, you know, like one that actually mattered. Um. [00:26:00] To go

to be an au pair in Switzerland. And o an au pair is just a fancy word for a nanny or a person who, uh, cooks, cleans and does all the chores and childcare, uh, for a very low price. And then you, you live with the people as well. So I moved to Switzerland to become a nanny and, um. I got there and I was still like connected with church.

I brought all my church or brought all my prayer journals. I was still on track for heaven. And, uh, within the neighborhoods there, like everyone knew that there was an American living in, in a house. It was me. And whenever another neighbor had an American visiting, they would, they would all like let each other know and they’d be like, Hey, we have an American.

You should send your American down, and they can be Americans together.

And so [00:27:00] about eight months into my time there, uh, we got a call. There was an American down the street at my friend’s house, and I was like, yeah, I, I like friends, I’ll go meet him. So then I went down the street and there was this man named John, and John was 27. He was an architect who had quit his stressful New York City job and was backpacking around Europe and he had shaggy hair.

And he was funny, so, oh no. Um, I loved him instantly. You know, all he had to do was say hi, and I was sold and we had some casual conversation, and then he told me he was going to this really great hot springs in the Alps that weekend. And then he invited me and I was like, pinching myself. I was like, oh my God, is this actually happening?

Am I gonna give him the box of letters?[00:28:00]

Um,

so I, I agreed to go to the hot springs. You know, I, if he invited me to the moon, I would’ve, I would’ve gone. Um. So we made a plan. I was gonna go after work and he would already be there. So the day comes, I get my backpack on, and the some cool outfit that I thought was cool at the time, who knows what it was.

But, um, so I take the train and I get to this hot springs and um, I walk in and if you think of somewhere like Fairmont Hot Springs, you know, there’s like. Children running, running around everywhere in a questionable amount of urine in the water, and you know, probably like. Wondering if you’re gonna get warts on your feet.

Um, it was not that, it was the opposite of that. Uh, it was like nestled into a [00:29:00] mountainside and I walked in and the revolted ceilings and live jazz is happening and John is standing there drinking a glass of wine and I’m standing, I stood there my, with my backpack on. Quickly realizing that this is not a backpack kind of place.

Um, but luckily John got me upstairs quickly. We got my backpack put away, and then we came back downstairs and enjoyed a night of jazz and, uh, conversation and I just kept loving him. Um, so, uh, the next day we soaked in the water and it was the hot springs. Like all of the pools were made out of granite that was mined from the Alps.

And there was a rose petal pool that just smelled like roses. And then there was a, a rain shower that was just like this beautiful room that just, it felt like it was raining. Um, so yeah, basically like Fairmont, you know,[00:30:00]

almost, almost minus the slide, but. So we soaked in there and chatted, and I don’t know how you could not love someone after hanging out in a rose petal pool, but so we were hanging out in this pool and he mentioned an ex-girlfriend. And I said, oh, I’ve never, I’ve never had a boyfriend. And he said, what?

You’ve never had a boyfriend? I was like, no. Why would I, why would I have a boyfriend? And he was like, what is happening? And I was like, well, I’ve actually, like, I’ve never been on a date. He was like, what? I, I was 21 this time. So I suppose that was a little peculiar, but I was like, no, I have never been on a date.

I was like. I’m with the Lord. I don’t go on dates. I got this box of letters. Um, so he said, all right, [00:31:00] tonight we are going on a date. And I said, great. So we went out to this fancy restaurant that I could not have a, could not have afforded by myself for sure. And. You know, my pants had like, were like tattered at the bottom from stepping on it, stepping on them, and I could see around in the restaurant, no, everyone else had nice pants, so I just was like, Ooh, we gotta keep these under the table.

So we had this three course meal. And then dinner wraps up and we went back upstairs to our room and I, um, we were, oh, I forgot to mention earlier the, we were in the same room, but we were, there were two twin beds. Plenty of space for Jesus in between. So we have this beautiful dinner, full bellies. We go up to our separate beds and we’re just laying there in the dark and I’m just smiling.

And he goes, Amanda, I’m like, what? He says, I have a confession. [00:32:00] And I’m like, what? He said When I invited you here, my plan was to hook, hook up with you. And I was like, oh my gosh. And he was like, but now after getting to know you and talking to you, I, I can’t do that to you. You are so sweet and so innocent.

I just, I can’t do that. But I just like, you’re a very attractive woman and, and it’s been wonderful to spend time with you. And I was like, oh. Um, and with all of my strength, I said, well. We could make out just a little, just a little, little make out, never hurt anybody. Um, and then he sat up outta his bed and I pushed the twin beds together.

And the next thing you know, we’re making out. But then I remembered one, we, Jesus is still [00:33:00] here. And then two, I was like, I actually have no idea what to do after kissing. Like I don’t, I dunno what happens after that. I just know that I don’t do that. I don’t even really know the logistics of it. So I said, stop, wait.

I was like, I don’t, I don’t know what to do with, um, that. I don’t know what that is. I don’t know what it looks like. I don’t know. I’ve never looked one in the eyes. I don’t know.

And he is like, what? He said, okay, we are gonna go on a journey of discovery. I was like, cool. And he said, I’m just gonna touch you and you’re gonna say if you like it or not. And if you don’t like it, I don’t do it. And I was like, great. But what about you? He said, you’re not touching me at all. I said, great.[00:34:00]

And then, you know, we kissed a little bit. I was like, I like it. We kissed a lot. I was like, love it. And. And then there was, you know, some like, touching of all the parts, and I still struggle to say the names of ’em, but it’s fine. ’cause I’m just 38. Um,

so yeah, it was like, like, like, like, like, like and then,

and then he. Started kissing down my stomach. I was like, okay, this is too far, this is too far. So I was like, stop, stop, stop. And he said, okay. And then we went to bed. You know, it was like the, the happiest sleep of my life. And we woke up the next day and things kind of just started right where they left off.

Thank you so much. Um, and he starts kissing [00:35:00] down my stomach and I just, I didn’t, I didn’t have the heart to stop him, like I just couldn’t. And so he went and. Really all I have to say about that is hallelujah.

That is so satisfying in a church. I just wanna do it one more time. Hallelujah.

But like all good things, it had to come to an end. And I had to get back to my life. He had to continue backpacking around Europe and so we went our separate ways. I got on my train and he got on his. And, you know, I had little tears in my eyes as I sat down in my seat because now I really loved him. And, [00:36:00] uh, I had about four hours of watching the Alps go by to think about it.

And I just, I could not reconcile the fact that now I was probably going to hell. I know. And I, I was like, but I’m, I’m a good person, but I’m going to hell. And I was, and I just couldn’t, I couldn’t reconcile, reconcile that, and I couldn’t make sense of that. So by the time I got off the train, I was walking up this hill to my house.

I really, I only knew two things at that point. And it was that I was not asking for forgiveness and that all of that needed to happen again. That is all I have. Thank you so much for listening and for coming out.

Marc Moss: Thanks, Amanda. Amanda Taylor resides in Missoula with her cat, Ted. As a child, she spent summers visiting her grandparents in Alder, Montana. [00:37:00] Her earliest memory of Butte is her grandma taking her to the Butte, Walmart, and buying her Reba McIntyre poster. She no longer has the poster, but she still loves Reba McIntyre.

Thanks for listening to the Tell Us Something podcast. Remember that. The next tell us something event is October 7th. The theme is Walk on the Wild Side. You can pitch your story by calling 4 0 6 2 0 3 4 6 8 3. Learn more and get your tickets@tellussomething.org. Coming up on the next episode of the Teso podcast,

Hammy: that was the first thought I have gonorrhea.

The second immediate thought was the place I need to go to treat this gonorrhea is my first day at the health department. I thought, oh my God, this is gonna suck. I get dressed. For some reason, I decide to put on white underwear. To this day, I don’t understand why I chose white.

Katie Van Dorn: And I probably should have figured it out, but I didn’t.

And I [00:38:00] came outta surgery with my right leg, an inch and a half shorter than my left, and I was pod to say the least, and a doctor said, well, that’s the way it has to be. So it just was so, I just learned to. Used poles for hiking, and I put lifts in and outside of my shoe, and I got a lot of body work.

Karna Sundby: When I found his body, I just started screaming and screaming and ran into the house, grabbed the phone, and started dialing my parents in Illinois.

When I realized I can’t just keep screaming when they answered the phone and I can’t stop, I hung up.

Aunvada Being: I asked him if he wanted to open up and he jumped at it. He was thrilled. And that was shocking to me and also terrifying. And I’m, I wish that maybe I had been a bit more terrified because I spent about two years fielding a lot of text messages, asking if it was okay that he had sent pictures to them.

And I, I lost my [00:39:00] mind. I was sad. Three kids and a husband a second one, and I didn’t have what I was realizing I needed.

Marc Moss: Listen to the stories from the June, 2025 live event that closed out Pride Month. The theme was lost and found. Subscribe to the podcast so you’ll be sure to catch it. On the next tell us something podcast.[00:40:00] [00:41:00] [00:42:00] [00:43:00] [00:44:00] [00:45:00] [00:46:00] [00:47:00] [00:48:00] [00:49:00] [00:50:00] [00:51:00] [00:52:00]

Thanks for listening to the Tele Something podcast. Coming up on the next episode of the Tele Something podcast.[00:53:00]

Listen to the stories from our return to Butte America in April of 2025. On the next episode of the Tell Us Something podcast, subscribe to the podcast so you’ll be sure to catch these [00:54:00] stories. On the next tell us something podcast. Remember that. The next tell us something event is October 7th. The theme is Walk on the Wild Side.

You can pitch your story by calling 4 0 6. 2 0 3 4 6 8 3. Learn more and get your tickets@tellussomething.org.

00;00;10;01 – 00;00;35;00
Marc Moss
Welcome to the Tell Us Something podcast. Tell Us Something is a nonprofit that helps people share their true personal stories around a theme. Live in person and without notes. I’m Mark Moss, your host and executive director of Tell Us Something. Have you ever felt that tug towards a place, a memory, or maybe even a person? That feeling of going home, that feeling of going home isn’t just about a physical location.

It’s about belonging and connection. It’s about finding that piece of yourself that’s been missing. On this episode of the Tell Us Something podcast. We explore all the different ways we come home to ourselves and the world around us. We’ll hear stories of journeys, of second chances, of rediscovering what truly matters. So buckle up and get comfy. Join us as we embark on these heartfelt adventures.

This episode of the podcast was recorded in front of a live audience at the Glacier Ice Rink and Pavilion on June 11th, 2024, as part of the Missoula Pride celebration. Eight storytellers shared their true personal stories on the theme Going Home.

00;01;19;02 – 00;01;33;03
Kiki Hubbard
A few days later, my mom called me to share a story. She said she had just been on the phone with my grandmother, and that she was terribly upset because apparently her cousin had called to ask how my father had enjoyed the bacon.

00;01;33;03 – 00;01;46;20
Adria Jwort
So you’re going to North Dakota after that. But where are you stopping at Salt Lake City? As soon as you get there, call me. Just, you know, he kept saying, call me, let me know you’re at. And I knew it was because of that club shooting.

00;01;46;20 – 00;02;10;29
Teri Wing
For seven years with Sarah, I was in hiding and actually I had my kids in hiding to, Initially, she was very patient with it all, but eventually she decided that she was living, my life in hiding with me and not her life, because she had actually come out when she was in her 20s.

00;02;10;29 – 00;02;26;13
Chloe Williams
So I loved Women on Hawthorn and in Portland for eight years. Yeah, there was drama, there were tears, there was joy, there was heartbreak. And I really sort of saw the first glimpse of my real self during that time.

00;02;26;13 – 00;02;57;12
Marc Moss
That’s coming up. We are currently looking for storytellers for the next tell us something storytelling event. The theme is Never Again. If you’d like to pitch your story for consideration, please call (406) 203-4683. You have three minutes to leave your pitch. The pitch deadline is August 9th. I look forward to hearing from you. We’re also looking for volunteers to help with the event.

If you love Tell Us Something and you love helping out, visit. Tell us something. Morgan. Volunteer to learn more and to sign up.

We were gathered at the Missoula County Fairgrounds in the heart of Montana amidst the vibrant energy of early June. As we remembered that we took a moment to acknowledge the traditional stewards of this land. We stand on the ancestral homelands of the Salish and Kalispell, people who for countless generations have nurtured and cared for this place. The place of the small bull trout.

Their deep connection to this land is woven into the very fabric of this valley. We honor their resilience, their knowledge of the natural world, and their enduring presence here. Acknowledgment alone is not enough. Let’s also commit to taking action ways that you can do this if you live in Missoula, or to learn more about the native tribes who still inhabit this land.

You can visit the Salish Kootenay College or the Missoula Children’s Museum to deepen your understanding of the Salish and Kalispell cultures. You can visit the Missoula Art Museum, where the exhibit We Stand with you. Contemporary artists. Honor the families of the Missing and Murdered Indigenous relative crisis runs through September 7th, 2024. You can support cultural events hosted by local tribes and explore opportunities to volunteer with their initiatives.

We can always be looking for opportunities to incorporate indigenous knowledge and practices into our everyday lives, whether it’s sustainable land management or traditional food systems. We can commit to moving beyond mere words and work towards building a more respectful and inclusive future. Honoring the legacy of the Salish and the Kalispell people on whose land we stand.

Remember this. Tell us something. Stories sometimes have adult themes. Storytellers sometimes use adult language.

We ate. Tell us something. Recognize the privilege inherent in our platform and while we love sharing a variety of voices, it’s important to amplify marginalized voices. That’s why during the event on June 11th, I stepped back and passed the mic to our friends from Missoula Pride. Devin Carpenter, who shared his story at last year’s event, and Kiara Rivera from the center, performed the honors of seeing the evening’s event.

On the podcast, you’ll hear them giving the bios for the storytellers.

In her first story, Kiki Hubbard, her mother and her grandmother are on a plane returning back to the United States from former Yugoslavia. After a trip tracing their ancestry, the grandmother, a strong immigrant who fled war and violence, is frustrated because customs won’t let her bring bacon into the United States. Kiki calls her story what bacon? Thanks for listening.

00;05;57;15 – 00;06;16;18
Kiki Hubbard

I’m on an airplane home from Europe with my mother and grandmother. To my left is my grandma Francesca, who went by Frances, but whom my family affectionately called Momo. I know she’s next to me because I can sense her signature fidgeting.

Mama was a constant warrior. It was as if anxiety propelled her through life, which kept her busy, I suppose, because she was always knitting, gardening, cooking, doing. And she moved at a rapid pace regardless of what she was up to. For example, if you saw her doing her laps at the mall, you would quickly conclude that she was either racing someone or racing away from someone.

This is a woman who never became a U.S. citizen, despite being in the United States for over 50 years as an immigrant.

Because she was terrified of failing the exam. She was ashamed of making mistakes and having people learn about them. And I suppose at a deeper level, she was afraid of being told that she couldn’t stay in this country. Now standing no more than five feet tall, Momo was also one of the strongest people I have ever known. She chopped firewood with an ax well into her 80s. She would flip burning logs in the fireplace with her bare hands. After emigrating here, she chopped off half of her pointer finger while working in a bakery in Milwaukee. She simply wrapped her hand in a towel and kept working. It wasn’t until her supervisor caught wind of the situation that she was taken to the emergency room.

Now, sitting next to me, to my right on the airplane is my mom. My mom was born and raised in Austria when she emigrated here with her parents. She was forced to grow up faster than most nine-year-olds because she picked up the English language quicker than they did. She read the mail, scheduled appointments, and had to navigate the complex systems that came with living in a new country.

And while Austria is where my mom was born, my grandmother used to call former Yugoslavia her home, where she and my grandfather farmed and lived in community with a number of other ethnic Germans whose ancestors had emigrated to Yugoslavia and other countries along the Danube River more than 250 years before. In fact, the impetus for our trip to Austria, from which we were returning to on that airplane, was a research grant that I was awarded as a college undergraduate. I was provided some funding to travel to Austria to interview relatives I had never met before about my cultural heritage, and in particular, how my grandma landed in Austria in 1944 as a war refugee.

My grandmother survived a genocide event that rarely makes it into history books. She fought following the fall of Hitler at the end of World War Two. The communist leader in Yugoslavia, Tito, initiated a massive gradation of anyone with German ancestry. So even though my grandparents had never set foot in Germany, they had German roots, and all ethnic Germans were stripped of their citizenship and property rights and told they had to leave the country. Those who didn’t heed the warning were either faced with torture, death, or slave labor camps. My grandparents were among the lucky, if you can call them that, because they were given three days to leave their land. They packed up their prized possessions in a covered wagon, said goodbye to their farm, their livestock, their vineyard, their friends, and joined a procession of other ethnic Germans headed toward Austria. They were told the trip would take two weeks. In fact, it took a full month, and they survived off the kindness of strangers and off of a single smoked pig that they prepared before leaving Newcastle.

When they arrived in Austria, they had high hopes that they would be able to return to Yugoslavia. But when they started to hear from the survivors there, they learned that there was no home to return to. Their land had been given away to members of the army. This dispossession of land would haunt my grandfather in particular for decades. I remember him as a despondent man whose mind was very far away. But although the army could take away their land, they could not take away their traditions. Some of my fondest memories with my grandfather are sitting next to a bonfire next to a lake in northern Wisconsin, cooking bacon over an open flame. I’m not talking about your typical Sunday morning bacon. I’m talking 4 to 5 a.m. slabs of bacon that you can only find at a butcher shop. My siblings and I would search the forest floor for the best sticks to whittle into skewers for the bacon. My grandpa taught us how to pepper and salt the bacon and cut slits into the slabs and slowly cook it over the flames.

As the bacon sizzled and the grease started to drip, he taught us to catch those grease drippings and slices of white bread that had copious amounts of paprika sprinkled on them. Roasting bacon over an open fire only happened once or twice a year. But I can still taste the charred pork and the greasy, spongy bread.

As the airplane begins to make its descent into Chicago, my grandmother leans over me to ask my mom a question in a mix of German and Italian. “What?” My mom asked. My grandma then proceeded to explain to my mom that her cousin had gone to the butcher shop in Austria and found the choicest cut of bacon to send home with my grandma as a gift from my father.

Now, what prompted this disclosure were repeated announcements by flight attendants, explaining that because of a foot and mouth disease outbreak, certain products weren’t being allowed into the United States, including meat. Now, mind you, my grandmother already had one item confiscated at the airport in Europe. They took a dagger-sized letter opener out of her purse before I was going through security. This, too, was a gift from my father.

And though she could not wrap her head around, after all, it had only been three short months since the World Trade Center had been attacked, and travel security was clearly different. At some point, I should say, my mother must have conflated foot and mouth disease with mad cow disease because I’m sitting in between them, hearing my grandma argue why she should be able to keep the bacon, asking why are the cows mad? And her cows were never mad because she treated them well. And after all, this pork is from the pig, so why should it matter? It shouldn’t be confiscated. I’m in between them, picking up bits and pieces of this conversation. One, because I only understand so much German, and two, because I was somewhat delirious. I had developed a 103 fever on the ten-hour flight home from Europe. I was terribly sick and desperate to get off this plane.

As we were boarding, it became clearer and clearer that my grandma did not want to give up this bacon. My mom was sensing this, and without any warning, she shoved her hand into my grandma’s purse, located the white butcher paper-wrapped meat, and hid it behind the women’s bathroom. I remember thinking to myself, I guess we’re not going to turn this over to the authorities. My grandma and I were at her heels, but by the time we got to the bathroom, the meat was already in the trash can. My mom pushed it way down deep into this large trash can in the women’s bathroom.

My grandma is still protesting. “Does this I know, Zonda, this is a son.” We turned around and headed toward the baggage claim area. I let my mom and grandma look for our luggage. I was feeling sicker by the minute and told them I was just going to sit next to the wall and rest. I hadn’t even gotten settled next to the wall when I saw my grandmother race past me, clutching her purse. I’m a little bit worried about her, so I start to stand up, and I see her run past me again, clutching her purse. This time I notice that there are three beagles at her heels, and they’re tethered to three men in uniform. I started following my grandmother, and I see that she’s located my mom, and she throws her purse into my mom’s face and keeps walking. And I shouldn’t say she was running so much as speed walking. It was as if all of the laps at the mall had prepared her for this very moment. The three beagles stopped at my mom’s feet, sat down, and just looked up at her. She’s holding the purse, humiliated.

I walk over to my mom to help support her in these conversations. She’s been interrogated by these three men in uniform. I was struck that the men were with the U.S. Department of Agriculture and they had guns. I was also struck that they had beagles as opposed to, say, German Shepherds or Labradors. It turns out the USDA detector dogs are known as the Beagle Brigade, and the Beagle Brigade’s job is to find the bacon.

And. Protect America’s food. Supply. My mom sheepishly led the authorities to the bathroom, helped them locate the meat, and our mom and I sat down for what felt like two hours to fill out paperwork for this slab of bacon. Meanwhile, my grandma was nowhere in sight. We finally made it through customs, where we were reunited with my grandma and my dad, who was driving us home.

A few days later, my mom called me to share a story. She said she had just been on the phone with my grandmother and that she was terribly upset because apparently her cousin had called to ask how my father had enjoyed the bacon. She felt like she had to lie and was lamenting that she had to lie. She was yelling on the phone to my mother.

I never heard from under another sin. I asked my mom how she was doing. Where is Momo now? Is she at home? Oh no, honey, she replied. Your grandmother is at confession.

00;17;22;12 – 00;17;47;07
Devin Carpenter
remotely for the University of Wisconsin-Madison as an academic collaborator with the U.S. Department of Agriculture. Kiki lives in Missoula by way of Wisconsin and Washington, D.C., and is a national expert in policy issues that affect our nation’s seed supply. She is passionate about protecting family farms and community food systems from unfair and destructive corporate practices.

Next up is Adria Jwort, who as a trans woman, wrestles with Montana’s anti-LGBTQ climate and complex relationship with her dad. The club Q shooting prompts her to return home, prioritizing family despite ongoing struggles. We call her story from Vegas to Montana. A father’s call. Thanks for listening.

00;18;11;01 – 00;18;41;22
Adria Jwort
And that there was that one time I didn’t want to come back home to Montana. It was, It’s a place it felt like where colonization made me feel like an alien in my own land. but there’s also this saying that I keep coming back to. Including yesterday. Right. we. Actress from Billings. Right. I go to Helena, Missoula, Livingston, Yellowstone Park.

Whoever had taken this trip literally about probably a couple hundred times by now. But when you’re round the bend past Columbus, right before Big Timber, you could see the Crazy Mountains and the view, you know, just so frickin’ magnificent. I remember two weeks ago when I came up here, I just remember the sky was, like, just piercing blue.

I didn’t know how to describe. I’ve never seen the sky that color; it was just described as neon. That made the Crazy Mountains seem 3D. Now let’s get out a camera, pull over, and take a picture. It’s photographic. Can I appreciate the art of it? But for that time, I was just like, you know what? I’m just going to keep this one for my memory.

But going back to the time I didn’t want to come back to Montana. I had been in Las Vegas, writing fellowship, and while there, I just felt like I felt my art had my social tribe, whatever, fellow goth and everything. And I lived in the Arts district, and there was I just felt like safe. And I had just been through hell in Montana the last year.

I’d been through some lawsuit and or like, literally hosting rallies where my name was being projected on screens and everything, and I was getting all kinds of threats. I actually won a libel lawsuit because the guy couldn’t stop threatening me. And like, people were showing up to where they thought I worked and everything. Just calling me a pedophile groomer or whatever.

And they’re going to, you know, fire me, I guess. But anyways, so I won the lawsuit and I’m in Las Vegas, had a settlement, and I just kept driving by apartments, like, wanting to know how I could afford down payments and then maybe get a job here. And it’s all going through my head and everything. I didn’t, you know, but there’s also this pull back to here.

But at the same time, at the end of my fellowship, the club shooting happened. And I remember distinctly, because I had come back from the golf club, and I was just feeling like. So chill, like maybe. Yeah, this is the spot. This is it. I think I want to live here, and I open up my Twitter feed, start scrolling, and right away I see this comment.

It’s like, hey, has anyone seen my friend? They perform at the they perform at Club Q, has anyone seen them? And it was just like weird seeing these three texts. Has anyone seen them? Or they say part of the okay, they perform there? And I was just trying to figure it out. And it all came together that night that there was a mass shooting and, yeah.

And it was just so surreal watching all these stories come together. Just people just like looking for their family, their friends, their best friends, drag performers, lover of the gay club. Shut up. And that Monday there was an anti-drag queen bill introduced. I was like, oh, what good timing. And by that, I was like, yeah, fuck Montana, I ain’t coming back and I know it’s going to get worse.

And I was telling people this and they just thought I was crying wolf, whatever. But it’s like, okay, yeah, you guys can do your own stuff up there. I’m just going to stay here. But that night, my dad called and we’d always had a complex relationship with. By being trans, I mean, the call it complex. Another statement, he was like, comes what?

I cannot trans. I mean, he’s like, kind of in denial of it. I mean, I was just kind of going bathe and whatever. But one day he saw me in the newspaper. I’m also in the newspaper as an activist and was wearing a dress and everything. And then I guess that was basically out of the closet for him, and he just freaked out and everything.

This kid is on the front page of the local state section, as you know. It was a terrible picture. I remember that really. But it freaked out, like bad, like I’m by a stepmother. She texted me saying, I never seen your dad like this. He’s like the strut, his whatever I there is seen him like this often.

His head, you know, and he knows. But anyway, like, hurt really bad because I didn’t expect him to accept that he knows better. Like Evangelia. Cool. Christian, but a deacon of the church. But he’s like a legit good guy. I mean, we were growing up, we used to like take all these kids at this Royal Rangers. It was called those kind of a Boy Scout groups.

He’d take them to the mountains. They’re all underprivileged kids from the poor parts of Billings. And they were just like, you know, he’d take about ten of them in his Volkswagen van. And, you know, that was what he liked doing. He just liked being a good Christian guy, I guess. And, yeah, I just really looked up to him and that there’s like a he also, like, raised us, three of us boys growing up basically as a single father.

Lots of times because, my mom, she would also go on, and say drug benders and what time she left for about eight months. And after a few months, we just cruised around looking for her mother. We pulled out of some downtown Billings bar, and I just seen her pulling her out, and then, these other guys, like.

Hey, get your hands off of my dad. I never seen him get violent before. I really. Cox’s pissed back. And because those are her kids over there, we’re sitting in the back of a truck like the little cab of a Mazda. And then. And then they all just backed off, and then they said, you better go talk to your kids.

My mom came over and it was like, if whenever I want to try like a thousand actresses in a movie, I needed to come up with a scene to make me cry. That would be it. It was my mom saying, I guess this is our final goodbye. Except I didn’t cry. I just like, learned to stop crying right then because my little brother, a year younger than me, he put his head in my lap and just started bawling and I just had to be there and comfort him.

So. And his like little, had cried big tears and it was just so, I don’t know, I just kind of lost emotions for a while. And that’s always the thing that always comes back in heartbreak. But, so my dad, he dealt with a lot of that, and I went to a 40 Under 40 award once, and then they said, who’s your hero?

And I put my dad. That’s an I put it meant it. So for him to just like, just totally just freak out about my being trans was so, just made me very distraught. I think I really said that word, but, anyways, so but that Monday after Club Q shooting, he calls up and I started calling him back after a few months and we kind of restarted a relationship because we always called each other.

It was always like, I mean, we missed each other. So of course he was. He still loved me. He didn’t approve of my lifestyle, as they say, but as I kind of try to explain Gothic, his lifestyle being transitioned. But, you know, he’s old school evangelical. That’s his religious beliefs. And it’s like, come what you like to like, judge and like say, but you know, to him it was just his religious beliefs and I don’t excuse it.

But at the same time, it was just like. You know, he called that. Yeah. Two days after Club Q shooting and after I was decided not to come back. And he was very, very concerned. Like, hey, when are you coming back? I never heard that in his voice before. Okay. Are you okay there? You know. Okay. How are you getting back?

So you’re going to North Dakota after that, but where are you stopping at Salt Lake City? As soon as you get there, call me. Just, you know, he kept saying, call me, let me know where you’re at. And I know it was because of that club shooting, I knew it was because he knew that his kid could die just for being LGBTQ.

And that was in his head. I mean, he didn’t say that, but that I had never heard it in his voice before, and he already had a my little brother who’s a year younger, he’s been murdered and he knew he didn’t want to lose another son. But just our, yeah, son who became our self, so yeah, that was it.

Right? I mean, I was still churning in everything and I said, yeah, I maybe I better come back and get my stuff, you know? But I was still thinking of that. But then I saw this article in the paper, some guy had been shot like seven times. He’d survive, come because he’d been to Colorado.

Had just been there from North Carolina, I believe. All the details. But anyways, he wasn’t even LGBTQ. He just saw this club going on in. It’s hip and happening because as kids we are good at partying and it’s like, hey, cool. But at the end up getting shot seven times left the club made it to two blocks away to 7-Eleven.

They cut his shirt open and everything and everyone in there that 7-Eleven tried to keep him alive and all I could think was, I just want to call my dad. He’s fading in and out, he said. That’s the last thing I wanted to do. It’s like it’s call my dad. That’s my best friend right there. And before I die, I just.

Can you just give it? You know, that’s his only thought and but, you know, and I just felt that so much right there. And it’s like, now what system. Sometimes it’s like we. Yeah. That’s, basically it right there. That’s one of the things I said. I just can’t leave my family, I guess. So that’s why I’m back here.

So thank you very much.

00;28;37;06 – 00;28;45;12
Kera Riverra

Adria L. Jawort is a Northern Cheyenne fiction writer and transgender/2 Spirit journalist based in Billings, Montana. Her writing has appeared in the Los Angeles Review of Books, Electric Literature, and Indian Country Today, among other publications. She is the Executive Director of the nonprofit Indigenous Transilience.

Marc Moss
We’ll be right back after this short break. You are listening to the Tell Us Something podcast.

00;28;51;25 – 00;29;16;04
Teri Wing
For seven years with Sarah, I was in hiding and actually I had my kids in hiding to, Initially, she was very patient with it all, but eventually she decided that she was living, my life in hiding with me and not her life, because she had actually come out when she was in her 20s.

00;29;16;04 – 00;29;31;18
Chloe Williams
So I loved Women on Hawthorn and in Portland for eight years. Yeah, there was drama, there were tears, there was joy, there was heartbreak. And I really sort of saw the first glimpse of my real self during that time.

00;29;31;18 – 00;29;35;08
Marc Moss
That’s after the break. Stay tuned.

Thank you to our story sponsor, the Good Food Store, helping us to pay our storytellers. Learn more at Good Food store.com. Thanks to Golden Yolk Griddle, who also showed up as a story sponsor. Learn more about them at Golden Yolk griddle.com. Thank you to our accessibility sponsor, Parkside Credit Union, allowing us to hire American Sign Language interpreters at this event.

In order to be a more inclusive experience, learn about them at Parkside fcu.com. Thanks to our artist sponsor Bernice’s Bakery, who paid our poster artist. I learned about them and their delicious baked goods at Bernice’s Bakery mty.com. Thanks to our media sponsors, Missoula Events, Dot net, the Art attic, The Trail Less Traveled, and Missoula Broadcasting Company including the family of ESPN radio.

The trail 133, Jack FM and Missoula. Source for modern hits you 104.5. Thanks to our in-kind sponsors. Float. Missoula. Learn more at float msl.com and choice of tile. Learn about Joyce at Joyce of tile.com. Please remember that our next event is September 18th at the George and Jane Denison Theater. The theme is Never Again. You can pitch your story by calling (406) 203-4683.

Tickets are available right now at Tell Us something.org. Please follow us on all the standard social media channels and subscribe to our newsletter. In order to be informed about all of our events. Welcome back. You are listening to the Tell Us Something podcast. I’m your host, Mark Moss.

In our next story. Teri Wing leaves Butte, Montana for convent life before leaving and finding love and family. Her journey home was a wild ride. Teri calls her story going home the long way around. Thanks for listening.

00;31;28;27 – 00;31;39;04
Teri Wing

Oh my God!

Okay, so I’m, 18 years old, and I’m sitting on a train that’s ready to leave Butte. This was before airplane travel was invented. And I’ve got three people that I graduated from high school with, and we’re kind of terrified. Excited, but terrified and worried about the choice we made. We are headed a thousand miles across the country to Kansas, where we are going to join a convent.

Now, before we left, my best friend hands me a box and she says, don’t open this until Rocker, which is like 20 miles away. So we get to Rocker and we open the box and there inside are about ten baby jars with various forms of booze from her dad’s cabinet, a jar of ice, a packet of sins and breath mints, and a pack of cigarettes.

And so, for about 300 miles after Rocker, we weren’t anxious anymore. It was really, really mellow. So I get to the convent, and there were so many things about it that were kind of weird to me. One of the things was the silence. I mean, I never really had tried it out, and so, but at first it was just an hour in the afternoon.

And so, at a certain time in the afternoon, we were to stay silent. I guess we were supposed to be praying, and then a bell would ring and we would drop to our knees and kiss the floor and just stay like that for a while, you know? So I was fine. Pretty much the silence was all day, except for one hour in the evening when we had what was called recreation, and we could talk to each other.

But the nuns had a real problem with something they called particular friendships. And these were kind of spooky. And so if you were observed during that recreation time on more than a couple of occasions talking to the same person, you were pulled aside and talked to about these particular friendships, and they were not approved of.

And they were very dangerous. I think what they’re really talking about is particularly lesbians.

During the second year that I was there, the superior called me into her office one afternoon to talk about my dad, and she told me that my dad was interviewed at a hospital and he’d had surgery for cancer. And just a short months later, my dad, who had been my rock, my safe harbor, my protector in a dysfunctional family, he was gone at the age of 54.

At the end of that summer, I got the news that I was assigned to go to Independence, Missouri, to a Catholic school to teach fourth grade. And I love that. I love little kids. And we were called a religious community. A religious community. But in fact, we were eight individuals living together under one roof, completely isolated from each other.

And it was really lonely. And so I talked to a friend of mine and she said, you know, I think you need to figure this out, so why don’t you go up to Topeka and talk to Doctor Hall, who’s the therapist? He might help you out. So I go up there and I’m with Doctor Hall for an hour, and he, every five minutes, he says, at the end of the hour, I’m impatient.

I say, tell me what you think. What do you think? So he leans across the desk and he says, well, sister, I think you need to give it another year before you decide what to do. So I thanked him and left, and I’m driving back to Independence, and I feel this rage building in my chest. And I think to myself, Doctor Hall, you fucking son of a bitch.

I have just told you that I’ve been unhappy for six years. And you say, give it another year. So when I got back to Independence, I called the mother house and said, I’m out of here. So they gave me back my $100 dowry that I gave them when I entered without interest. I’m out. And so I had enough to buy a nice dress to get a train ticket.

Still no airplanes. Still a train ticket back to Butte. And as the train is pulling out of Kansas City and I see the station disappearing through the windows, I thought, you know, I’ve really kind of come full circle because I’m sitting in the club car with a bourbon in one hand and a cigarette in the other, and I’m thinking, well, hello, Independence.

You know, as soon as I get to Butte and to my parents’ house, as soon as I walked in the door, I knew this wasn’t home anymore because my dad wasn’t there. For years after he was gone, his clothes were still in the closet. His hunting and fishing gear was still there, and I think I had a reaction of some really serious delayed grief.

And so I knew it was not home. So after a little while, I left there and I went to Spokane to enroll at Gonzaga to finish my degree. And so I did that. And then after I graduated, I got a job. I thought maybe Spokane was a place to stay. But one of the biggest challenges I had was dating.

Because you remember the last time I dated I was dating high school boys, and now here I am, and I’ve got no one but two young men. Like, one had a beard, and they’re both interested in me. And I’m really thinking that they’ve got more on their mind than a particular friendship. And I’m still a virgin. And so I was not interested in that.

So I did what any mature, responsible 20-something would do. I backed up my Mustang convertible, my old car, put everything I owned in it, put the top down, and got the hell out of town. And I came to Missoula for the first time. I came here and I enrolled in a graduate program in education at the university.

And after that degree, I had some jobs in Missoula. I got married and had a 12-year marriage that ended up not working for either one of us, but I had two wonderful, sweet daughters, which was a real bonus. And then at the age of 40, to my surprise, I fell in love. And I’m talking I fell really, really in love with Sarah.

And Sarah was a beautiful woman, so, so sensuous. She had these beautiful blue eyes that I could just get lost in. And she was smart and funny. And at the time, though, I was the curriculum director for the Missoula School District, it was the 90s, pretty visible job. And I was really worried about how my living arrangement was going to impact my job.

I was also really concerned about my girls, who at that time were in middle school. And in the 90s, there weren’t that many kids who were open about having two moms or two dads. And so for seven years with Sarah, I was in hiding. And actually, I had my kids in hiding too. Initially, she was very patient with it all, but eventually she decided that she was living my life in hiding with me and not her life, because she had actually come out when she was in her 20s.

And so she moved out and left, and I was thoroughly heartbroken, filled with pain of loss, with regret, with guilt. And so I tried to stay numb as I could using alcohol. But, you know, that doesn’t work at all. And so I checked myself into an alcohol treatment program to get my head straight, to get my feet on the ground.

Okay. And it worked. And so a couple of years later, both of my kids graduated and left the nest. And so at that time, I just didn’t feel like I could stay in Missoula anymore. There was the pain was still too raw of losing Sarah. And so I left and had a couple of jobs that I would try to fit in.

I always felt like a visitor. So in 2014, I came back to Missoula and I bought a house and my daughters by that time were married. They have kids of their own. They’ve got three little boys who have you ever noticed how noisy boys are and they throw things? I mean, we have baseball games in my living room and I’m guarding my windows the whole time.

We’ve got fierce hockey games going on in my tiny kitchen, and for me it is just such a joyful noise. I love, I’ve connected with my former husband and his wife through all of these marriages, births, birthdays, celebrations, soccer games, and I find that I’m part of a really wonderful extended family now and then there are my friends and the people from back 20 years ago welcoming me back to Missoula.

They let me know they still love me. For me, being with old friends feels like slipping my feet into a really well-worn pair of cozy slippers. That kind with that fuzzy stuff inside that feels so familiar and so comfortable. And so years ago, I had left Missoula with a broken heart. Since I’ve been back, I have found more love and community than I ever thought I could experience.

And I am so really, really glad that I’m home.

00;43;24;18 – 00;43;42;26
Devin Carpenter
the mother of two and a grandmother of three boys. Terry is a retired educator who loves dogs and other living things. She hasn’t yet climbed tall mountains, run a marathon, or jumped out of a plane, though she says she may put those on her bucket list.

00;43;42;26 – 00;44;02;13
Marc Moss
Our final storyteller. In this episode, Chloe Williams searches for happiness in love, places and self-expression before finally figuring out what love is and where to find it. Chloe calls her story the rusty screeching turn toward home. Thanks for listening.

00;44;02;13 – 00;44;10;13
Chloe Williams

The journey has been very long to find the answer. I looked for the answer in parents. I looked for the answer in love. And I’ve looked for the answer in places. For me, they were in none of those. The first place that I looked for the answer was in my mom, and she provided a roof over my head. In fact, many roofs, as you just heard. But holding on to her was like holding on to the tale of a burning comet that zigzagged through the world. She had mental illness, and it pingponged her off of men and off of spiritual practices, and then ricocheted her back to earth. And that answer hurt me and left me feeling dizzy and confused.

The next place that I looked for the answer was in the idea of love. And the idea of love was shaped in me by Disney movies. Magenta princesses with huge smiles, and that cheesy music that comes in with the happy endings. So by three years old, I would put myself to sleep every single night, laying my head exactly in the middle of my pillow and strategically placing my hair around my face in a ring, and then folding my hands over my stomach and waiting. Waiting for love to save me. So I loved fiercely, as fiercely as I could muster. The first boy that I loved was Jesse, and he was supposed to be the Prince Charming from one of those movies. In reality, he was just a tall, lanky guy that lived in a basement room, and every time I walked down the dark wood stairs to his room, I thought, maybe this is it.

But all I found in that room was that tinny soundtrack to the Street Fighter game, and then the stale smell of bong water. The next person that I loved was Kelly. The first girl that I loved. And she lived in a really unsafe home. It was dangerous for her there. So we camped out in coffee shops in the Haight-Ashbury, and I would lean in to hear the poetry that she would write to me over the bangs and clinks of the espresso shots being pulled, and that diesel drip smell of coffee that we could afford, and we would crawl into each other’s eyes for safety.

And then I got into college. I got into Mills College, and my mom was so excited. She was like, Chloe, it’s so great that you got into an all-women’s school because you won’t be distracted at all by. Little did she know that a month later I fell for a very cute butch girl, and that girl handed me a book that felt like the manual to who I was supposed to be. So I, oh, the book was “The Well of Loneliness.” And so I wore the makeup and had the long hair and wore the heels, and it really seemed to make her happy.

But the other women at Mills said things like “lesbian until graduation” and made me feel like a trespasser in this world that I really wanted to belong to. So when that cute butch girl took me on a road trip to Portland, Oregon for the first time, singing the soundtrack to “Rent” at the top of her lungs the whole way, I thought, maybe it’s a new city. That’s the answer. And so when I walked down Hawthorne Street in Portland, it felt like the green, beautiful trees that lined that street sort of just reached down and held me in an embrace and an embrace. And I loved it there. The energy was exactly what I was looking for. It was the hub of the queer community.

And I got a job right on Hawthorne Street, washing dishes at the Cup and Saucer Cafe. And I loved it. I washed those white plates, and the steam would rise up into my face. And I just got to watch all these beautiful women coming in and out of the cup. Spiky hair, cargo shorts, glinting eyes. And I remember a few shifts into my job there, I went home. I went to the backyard and shaved all my long blond hair off and looking into the mirror for the first time at myself with a shaved head. It felt like my skin just fit a little bit better. So I stayed on Hawthorne for a long time. In fact, one morning I remember working at the club. I was standing at the counter, waiting for customers to come in, and the cook, who I’d been eyeing for a few weeks, Amanda, came up to do some inventory, and she always wore this cute little train engineer hat off to the side.

And as she was standing next to me, I felt like my cells were vibrating and I wanted to connect. I wanted to reach out and say something, but I didn’t have the script. The script was old. It didn’t work anymore. So I looked around and tried for something and I tried reverse psychology and I said, “Not you again.” And that coy smile that she shot me in that moment, I was like, settled a little bit more into my body. So I loved women on Hawthorne and in Portland for eight years. And there was drama, there were tears, there was joy, there was heartbreak. And I really sort of saw the first glimpse of my real self during that time.

But something was missing and I did not know what it was. I got to a point, though, that I thought, well, maybe I’ll try the exact opposite. Maybe I need a dude’s dude. Maybe I need a hard-drinking, hard-fighting dude’s dude. And I found him. I found him in the Sandy Hut dive bar in Portland. And I walked in that night, and there was Crash sitting at the bar. Tattered motorcycle sweater, scarred knuckles. And I thought, he looks like he could keep me safe. But trying to make Crash my answer was kind of like trying to train a wild dog. I had to sort of ignore the frothing and the growling, to really get that horse training in, but I tried for another eight years to domesticate Crash, and with a ring on my finger and a baby in my arms and a house that we bought, I couldn’t ignore the scars that I got from that wildness.

And I followed that wildness all the way to Montana. Well, it turns out that parents are not the answer, at least not for me. And I’ve had to let my mom go for her to just kind of still be homeless and moving around and dealing with her mental illness without me on her coattails. Turns out love is not the answer. Not when it’s the kind of love that you have to sacrifice yourself for. And I had to let the wild dog go. Well, I wanted to let the wild dog go. And to be untamed and happy. And I love my half-wild son more every single day without losing myself. I actually took six years off of the idea of love, because I really had to, like, reframe the whole Disney version and create my own version of love.

And I get to do that today with an amazing woman who I can really be myself in front of. We get to witness each other settling into our skin more each day. It turns out that cities and places—San Francisco, Portland, Missoula—they are just cities with empty houses and empty streets. Unless you know how to make a home. Well, I choose to make my home in Missoula, and I choose to make it in my queer skin, which fits me so well. It turns out that the rusty, screeching, slow turn to myself was actually my home. I had to look away from all the people and the places and the things. And my answer? I am my home, and I’m going home to myself in front of you right now. And I will be going home to myself for the rest of my life. Thank you.

00;53;54;22 – 00;54;07;27
Kera Riverra
Chloe was born in Steamboat Springs, Colorado, and raised in San Francisco. She spent some summers on a farm in Illinois. Eventually, she spent 17 years in Portland, Oregon, and ten years ago moved to Missoula.

Chloe has lived approximately 40 different addresses in her life, though she really has lost count. Storytelling was passed down from her mom in the many long car rides of her childhood, and that’s her favorite thing her mother gave her. Only in the last few years has she been called to try storytelling herself. And it feels like something her spirit needs to do.

00;54;29;23 – 00;54;43;00
Marc Moss
Thanks for listening to the Tell Us Something podcast. This episode was recorded live in person as part of the opening events at Missoula Pride on June 11th, 2024 at the Glacier Ice Rink Pavilion.

00;54;43;06 – 00;54;54;09
Michelle Reilly
It was like looking through the most beautiful kaleidoscope I had ever looked through all these vibrant colors and shapes and patterns of fractals and wonder.

00;54;54;09 – 00;55;12;09
Adel Ben Bacha
As she answers the phone, she softly says hello. And then silence. That silence felt like forever. But she breaks that silence with a delicate sob.

00;55;12;09 – 00;55;23;21
Zeke Cork
I didn’t know what it meant, but I couldn’t shake it. I thought maybe it was about my family, so I try to write about it, but there was always something missing. It stayed with me for years.

00;55;23;21 – 00;55;30;05
Ashley Brittner Wells
The coolest thing you could do in town was go to the games. And I desperately wanted to be cool, so I went.

00;55;31;05 – 00;55;58;02
Marc Moss
Tune in for those stories on the next Tell Us Something podcast. Please remember that our next event is September 18th at the George and Jane Dennison Theater. The theme is Never Again. You can pitch your story by calling (406) 203-4683. Tickets are available currently at Tell Us something.org. Please follow us on all the standard social media channels and subscribe to our newsletter.

In order to be informed about events and all things storytelling. Stream past episodes, learn more about upcoming events, and get tickets at Tell Us something.org.

Welcome to the Tell Us Something podcast, I’m Marc Moss.

We are currently looking for storytellers for the next Tell Us Something storytelling event. The theme is “Close to the Edge” If you’d like to pitch your story for consideration, please call 406-203-4683. You have 3 minutes to leave your pitch. Our friends from the Deaf community are welcome to pitch by emailing info@tellussomething.org.

The pitch deadline is February 17th. I look forward to hearing from you.

This week on the podcast… “”I immediately get off of the exam table, and I get to the ground.” “Sometimes, a small act of kindness and compassion, as simple as buying a stranger a sandwich, can change someone’s life, and maybe even their death.” “Never forget. On 9/11, we leaned into each other, recognizing our shared humanity.” “Death. It’s final, it’s in your face, it’s unforgiving.”

…four storytellers share their true personal story on the theme “The Kindness of Strangers”. Their stories were recorded live in-person in front of a sold-out crowd on December 06, 2023 at The Wilma in Missoula, MT.

Winter is traditionally a time when we slow down. Our indigenous friends, during winter, share stories that they don’t share at other times of the year. Tell Us Something acknowledges that we are gathered on the traditional, ancestral, and unceded territory of the Ponder eh, Salish, and Kootenai peoples.

Traditionally, storytelling is reserved for the winter months for many tribes. This was a practical choice given the fact that during the other seasons, people were busy growing, gathering, and hunting food. It is in the winter, with the long dark evenings, the snow and wind blowing outside, that telling stories is used to entertain — and teach the children. Another reason for winter storytelling, is that many traditional stories contain animal characters. To be respectful, people wait until the winter when animals hibernate or become less active so they cannot hear themselves being talked about.

We take this moment to honor the land and its Native people and the stories that they share with us.

Thank you to our Title sponsor – Blackfoot Communications.

connecting people, businesses and communities. They know that strong connections matter. Connecting businesses, homes. communities. Connecting with each other. They keep people reliably connected.

To learn more, visit goblackfoot.com

Sensitive listeners be aware that Tell Us Something stories sometimes have adult themes and storytellers sometimes use adult language and profanity.

Our first storyteller is Erin Scoles, a mother, who, watrches in shock as a terrifying avalanche burries her young son. Strangers and community come together in Missoula to save lives in the midst of chaos. Erin calls her story “Found”. Thanks for listening.

Erin Scoles: It’s short enough.

Um, I’m not a huge fan of winter, and it’s partly due to the fact that I can’t feel some of my toes. I permanently damaged them years ago while searching for my missing son. It was February 28th, 2014, and Missoula had declared it a snow day. All schools were closed, um, and I was a college student at the time, so I was at home.

with my 8 and my 10 year old. It was around 4 o’clock in the afternoon when they come into my bedroom and ask if they can go outside and play. I of course said yes. Um, I could hear them in their shared room next to mine getting ready and I hear my 10 year old daughter Coral telling my 8 year old son Phoenix to put on an extra layer of clothes because of how cold it was outside.

He of course listened to his big sister. Um, at this time, my partner at the time, Casey, just got home from work. He was able to ski to work that day because of the large amount of snow that had fallen. The kids finish getting ready, and they go outside to play, and I’m in my bed, and I’m watching a show.

And to the right of me is a huge window, and I can see my entire backyard, and I can see my kiddos playing. Um, about ten minutes passed, and I actually start to feel my house shake and I didn’t register what it was. Um, I knew Missoula had earthquakes before. I had, like, have, I have felt them before. And I knew this was not an earthquake.

I then heard it and then I look out. That huge window, and I saw it. And, I don’t know why my brain did this, but it did. And it was two screens, so it was like a split screen. And one screen was this huge white wave. And it was cascading into my backyard. And I couldn’t see my garage anymore. It wasn’t there.

And my neighbor’s house wasn’t there either. On the other split screen, I see Coral and Phoenix. And they’re turned around. They’re looking at this white wave coming towards them. The avalanche. And they start running. I see it hit Phoenix. And I see the avalanche pick him up. And Phoenix gets tossed around a bit.

I remember seeing his orange coat and his black boots. And then I see nothing because the avalanche hits my house. And it knocks me off my bed. And all of a sudden I’m, I’m on my floor and it’s dark and it’s silent and I still can’t register what just happened. I get off the ground and I, I run out of my bedroom in the kitchen and Casey runs right in front of me and we don’t make eye contact.

We don’t even, we don’t even say, we don’t say anything to each other. And I later learned he knew exactly what it was and he went downstairs to grab his avalanche probe and his avalanche shovel. Um, I continued to go through the kitchen to the side door, which is the quickest way to my backyard, and I can’t open it.

There is so much snow, and there’s a canoe in the way, and there’s part of someone’s roof. Um, I turn around and I make my way out to my front door, and I run down the front steps, and I go to open the gate to my backyard, but there’s no gate. And there’s no 12 foot fence either that surrounds my house usually.

At this moment I start screaming, My babies, my babies. And I enter my backyard and Coral runs up to me. She was in the runoff of the avalanche and was able to free herself pretty easily. She was pretty shooken up though, of course. I asked her where her brother was and she had no idea. I started screaming again, and I’m screaming my baby.

My baby, I go more into my backyard and I don’t see Phoenix and all of a sudden there’s like a dozen people, strangers, neighbors in my yard. And they’re asking me, who is Phoenix? And where did you last see him? And I explain these things to these people and they just know what to do. They start digging.

And some of these people have Avalanche shovels. We’re in Missoula, right? Um, and some people have normal snow shovels and I don’t know how much time has passed, maybe five minutes, maybe eight, and a neighbor comes up to me and makes me go inside my house, and I hadn’t realized at this time, but the entire time I was outside, the only thing I had on was a very flimsy, thin, cotton robe with no tie, because that had been lost in the chaos, and it was just flapping in the wind, And so I was completely naked.

Um, You’re welcome Missoula.

Sorry Coral. Um,

Sorry, I couldn’t help it. Um, So I was completely naked, I had no shoes on, nothing. Um, thankfully she makes me go inside and helps me get dressed. She tells me to stay inside, and I don’t listen. I go back outside and And somebody hands me a shovel, and I start digging. That’s what everybody is doing. I, I look around and there’s like 75 plus people in or around my yard.

And at this time, it’s also learned there’s two missing people, more missing people, Michael and Fred, my neighbors who live behind me, whose house I saw that was missing. So we’re digging for three people at this time. And I look around more, and I, I see people with shovels, and the Avalanche shovels, and normal shovels, and people are using parts of my broken fence, and people are using, like, garbage can lids, like, really anything they can find.

And I start to panic, because I realize I could be standing over Phoenix, or Michael, or Fred, and I wouldn’t be able to get to them soon enough. So I drop my shovel, and I start screaming. Uh, that same neighbor comes over to me, and now a firefighter comes over to me, and they tell me I have to leave the scene, that there’s an ambulance waiting for me down the road, and it has Coral and Casey, and we all have to get checked out at the hospital.

Um, they each put an arm around me, because it’s really hard for me to walk. My feet really hurt. So we’re walking down the road to the waiting ambulance, and at this exact moment is when a photographer takes a photo of me, and The very next morning, it’s on the front page of the Missoulian. We get to the ambulance and there’s three EMTs and there’s Coral and Casey and we start making our way to St.

Pat’s Hospital. Coral’s checked out. She’s got bumps and bruises. They’re warming up my feet and the the EMT that is warming up my feet. I remember he had really soft blue gray eyes and long gray hair and He was really trying to comfort and reassure me that there were so many people looking for my son.

And, it wasn’t helpful at that moment. Um, and I looked at him very seriously and I said, If they do not find Phoenix, or if they do not find him alive, Do not let me out of your sight. He knew exactly what I meant when I said that. What he didn’t know was that 11 years prior, I had lost a child. And I knew I could not live through losing another.

We get to the hospital, they put us in a room, they check out my feet more in Quarrel, and in that hospital room are two police detectives. Quarrel, Casey, a friend, a doctor, a nurse, that same EMT. Um, a few minutes pass and that EMT comes up to me and I’m sitting on the exam table and he puts his hand on me and he says, They found Phoenix.

He’s alive. He’s not awake. I immediately get off of the exam table, and I get to the ground. And I get as low as I can get. And I don’t know why I did this. I am not a religious person. At all. Sorry.

And, While I’m doing this, I am explaining it. I need to be in the most humble position possible. That’s all I knew I had to do in that moment. I get to the ground. I’m explaining that. Everybody in that room does the exact same thing. Even the two police detectives. Which I kind of laugh about, which is like really great, but I don’t think I’ll ever experience that again.

We stay in this position until someone comes into that room and says that Phoenix is in the hospital. And he’s receiving fluids, and he’s getting warmed up, and he’s getting looked at, and we can see him really soon. It’s also explained that, when he was found, his body temperature was so dangerously low, that they have to slowly warm him up, as to not cause any more shock to his system.

So they warn us of all the heating pads and blankets that will be surrounding his little body, all of the tubes and the wires, and the neck brace. Coral, Casey, and I walk into the room where Phoenix is at, and we start approaching the bed, and I’m not ready to see it. I’m not ready to see Phoenix like this, because his cheeks and his lips are still slightly bluish.

And that was probably the hardest thing for me to see. I scan his face more, and I, I see dried blood, and I see a black eye, and I see a really long cut. Where the black guy is, and that’s where the avalanche probe found him.

Coral, um, approaches the bed even closer and she grabs his hand and she won’t let go. And she starts saying his name over and over again. Phoenix. Phoenix. And I shit you not, it is just like the movies, you guys. Phoenix opens up his eyes and he looks at his sister. And then he looks at us. Uh, a few minutes later, they’re able to take off the neck brace and the tubes out of his mouth, and he’s, he’s having a little bit of a hard time talking, but he can talk to us, and he remembers everything.

Um, Phoenix was hit by an avalanche just plain in his backyard at almost 120 miles per hour. He walked away with a lacerated spleen, a bruised lung. Nasty concussion, a black eye, and one hell of a story that he now tells ladies in college because he’s doing great. Um, we, it happened ten years ago and we knew this day was coming and he’s, yeah.

Sorry Phoenix. Um, so we stay in the hospital for two more days and we had a lot of visitors at this time. Um, and. One of the visitors was the man who found Phoenix. He actually happened to live across the street from us. We didn’t live in that house for more than five months when it was hit by the avalanche, so we didn’t know our neighbors too well.

He had a son, Phoenix’s age, and when he heard the avalanche, he looked out his window, saw what happened, grabbed his tools, and just ran out there. He put himself in so much danger to search for three people. Those 75 plus other people put themselves in so much danger. That is amazing. That’s Missoula, right?

Um, unfortunately I can’t remember this man’s name. Trauma fucks with your head in a lot of different ways. Um, but I will forever be grateful to him. And not just for saving Phoenix’s life, but for saving mine. Thanks.

Thanks, Erin.
Erin Scoles is grateful to have lived such a full life. She’s given birth to 5 children, hitchhiked across the country, lived in a school bus before it was cool, endured huge loss and loved big. She’s most proud of her Irish heritage and how badass & compassionate her kids are. Erin looks forward to the day where she can focus on just one project at a time and for her kids to finally and truly admit she’s the funniest person that they know. For a link to the Missoulian article and to see the photograph of Erin from the front page that day, visit tellussomething.org.

Next up is Jen Certa

Jen shares her story about how a simple act of kindness helped eventually house an unhoused person, led to closure for a family, and reaffirmed her hope in humanity. Jen calls her story “Life, Death, and Teaspoons of water”. Thanks for listening.

Jen Certa: Sometimes, a small act of kindness and compassion, as simple as buying a stranger a sandwich, can change someone’s life, and maybe even their death. I know that sounds kind of strange, but I can tell you that it’s true. It was a crisp fall afternoon several years ago and my favorite co worker, Rebecca, and I were in the middle of our Friday afternoon ritual, what we refer to as get shit done time, and we were getting ready to kind of start wrapping up for the day when we were interrupted by three strangers who had just walked in the door of our office.

The strangers were a retired couple in their late 70s named Gingy and Pete, and a gruff, middle aged man named Michael, whom they had just met on their weekly lunch date. Gingy and Pete had noticed Michael sitting alone, not eating. He appeared to be carrying all of his worldly possessions in his backpack.

And so, um, They decided to invite Michael to join them for lunch, struck up a conversation, and learned that Michael was currently living in a tent in Greeno Park. He’d been having a really difficult time finding a job, getting a job, because he didn’t have an ID. And in order to get an ID, he needed a copy of his birth certificate, which he also didn’t have.

He had explained that recently he’d actually been scammed by someone in town who had claimed they could help him get his birth certificate for a fee, and then disappeared with Michael’s money. So, Gingy and Pete thought maybe we could help. And I’ll be honest with you. For a minute, I did consider passing the buck.

Sending Michael to somebody else that could help him. Because, technically, it wasn’t actually my job to help a random stranger get a birth certificate from another state. And I did have other slightly more urgent shit to do. But the expression on Michael’s face told me everything that I needed to know.

I could see that he didn’t really trust other people. And he definitely didn’t have much faith that I would be any different than anybody else who had already tried to help him with his predicament. Now, something you need to know about me is that I am pretty competitive and definitely stubborn, and I was not willing to be another person that let Michael down.

And besides that, if someone even so much as hints that they think I can’t do something, then to that I say, challenge accepted. Hold my pile of work I’m supposed to be doing instead, and watch this. I quickly found the number for the Minnesota office of vital records, and dialed, hoping not everyone had gone home for the weekend already.

And miraculously, Debbie answered. Hi, Debbie. My name is Jen, and I’m a social worker in Missoula, Montana. I’m here with Michael, and he has been having a heck of a time trying to get his birth certificate. He really needs it so he can get a job. And Debbie, he has just been given the runaround. Gosh, I just know, Debbie, there has to be something that you and I can do together to work this out today.

I’m really hoping you’re gonna be our gal. Now, Debbie did deliver. She directed us to a form that Michael needed to fill out, and some other bureaucratic hoops to jump through, since Michael didn’t have a permanent address. And it was all hands on deck that afternoon in the office. Anyone who was still there was running around, scrambling, trying to help Michael compile everything that he needed, get it notarized, get it to Debbie before it was 5 p.

m. in Minnesota. And finally, Debbie did let us know that Michael’s birth certificate would be arriving in about a week or so. I took the form that Michael had filled out with his information and tucked it away into a folder, just in case he needed it again, and we parted ways. Shortly after that, Michael did get his birth certificate, and then finally that ID.

And over the next several months, his life began to look a little bit like the opposite of a country music song. He got a job, he got a bank account, saved some money, he made some friends with coworkers, he kept in touch with Gingy and Pete, and eventually, he did move out of his tent in Greeno Park into more permanent housing.

And I wish that I could tell you that that is where the story ends. But on another Friday afternoon, almost about a year later, get shit done time was again interrupted. But this time, it was St. Pat’s Hospital, and they were calling to tell us that Michael was in the ICU on life support. When My co workers and I arrived at the hospital, confused, a short time later, the doctors told us that Michael had gone into cardiac arrest and collapsed, and that there really was little hope that he would ever recover brain function or wake up.

They had found Rebecca’s business card in his wallet, along with his ID, which is why they had called us. And they wanted to know if we had any idea how to contact Michael’s next of kin. Because someone was going to need to make some decisions about end of life care for Michael. And soon. Outside the hospital, buckets of rain poured over my windshield, pounded on the roof of my car.

As Rebecca and I sat inside it. We were absolutely gutted by the thought that Michael could die alone without anyone in his family having any idea what had happened. But he had never really said much to any of us about his past. We didn’t know anything about his family. Except, I still had that form that I had tucked away.

And on it, were his partents’ names and birthplaces. So, armed only with that information, and our phones, we started Googling.

We found his mother’s obituary, which did tell us that Michael had four sisters. Pam, Sue, Jane, and Michelle. And judging by the order of the names in the obituary, it was safe probably to assume that Michael was the youngest and all of them were older than him. That was the good news. The bad news was that it appeared that all four sisters were married.

No Last names were mentioned anywhere in the obituary, nor were any locations of where they might have lived. So, to recap, we’re now looking for four middle aged women from the Midwest with the names Pam, Sue, Jane, and Michelle, who may or may not still be living somewhere in the state of Minnesota.

Didn’t really narrow it down a whole lot. But somehow we found a phone, a list of phone numbers with people with those first names and we just started calling down the list. I left dozens of the same message over and over again. Hi, my name is Jen. I’m a social worker in Missoula, Montana. I’m looking for the sibling of Michael Smith.

If, if you know Michael, please give me a call back as soon as possible. Now. Um, honestly, I don’t know if either Rebecca or I truly thought that we would actually find any of them that way. But the next morning, I answered a phone call from a Minnesota area code. And on the phone, on the other end of the line, was Michael’s twin sister, Michelle.

She hadn’t seen her brother in 20 years, and she told me she’d been waiting for him. A long time, dreading getting a phone call like this. Michael’s four sisters all found last minute flights to Missoula, and arrived at the hospital the next day. They spent a long time with Michael, talked to his doctors, and made some really difficult decisions.

And the next afternoon, Michael died, with all four sisters of his sisters by his side. The day after that, Pam, Sue, Jane, and Michelle met us for breakfast. Though we had been strangers just a few days before, we now gathered together for a meal to celebrate Michael’s life. Gingy, Pete, my co workers, and I shared what we knew of Michael’s last year of his life in Missoula with them, and they shared stories with us about the brother that they had known.

And though it was clear there had definitely been some hurt and relationship rupture over the years between Michael and his sisters, there was also very clearly a lot of love. The sisters expressed their gratitude that they got to have some closure, that they knew with certainty what had happened to their brother, that they had had time to say goodbye and anything else left unsaid.

And that they knew Michael was not alone at the end of his life. And I’ve been thinking about this a lot recently. In this particular moment of our collective history, when we are all witnessing, experiencing, enormous amounts of pain and suffering as human beings on this planet. And I don’t know about you, but I have been finding it really hard to not feel like I’m losing my faith in humanity right now.

To Not fall into despair or wonder if anything that I do actually matters in the grand scheme of things. Or if it’s basically the equivalent of trying to put out the massive raging dumpster fire that is the world right now with a teaspoon of water. And maybe it is, I don’t know. But then I also think about how it’s also true that Gingy and Pete saw a man sitting alone offered to buy him a sandwich.

And because of that That stranger didn’t die alone. In the story of Michael’s life and his death, Gingy and Pete, for me, really embody the words of humanitarian Albert Schweitzer when he says, Each of us can always do a little to bring some portion of misery to an end. They remind me that Even a small act of kindness can have vast ripple effects that expand outward further than we can even imagine.

And that, that’s what gives me some amount of hope for the rest of us and our teaspoons of water too. Thank you.

Marc Moss:

Thanks, Jen.
Jen Certa is originally from New York, and accidentally began a love affair with Montana in 2009. She is a social worker and currently works as a therapist with kids and families, which basically means she’ll help you process your feelings after she beats you at Uno. When not at work, Jen can most often be found traversing the trails around Missoula with human and dog friends, guessing people’s Enneagram numbers, and/or running late for something.

Coming up after the break: “Never forget. On 9/11, we leaned into each other, recognizing our shared humanity.” “Death. It’s final, it’s in your face, it’s unforgiving.”

Stay with us.

Remember that we are currently looking for storytellers for the next Tell Us Something storytelling event. The theme is “Close to the Edge”. If you’d like to pitch your story for consideration, please call 406-203-4683. You have 3 minutes to leave your pitch. Our friends from the Deaf community are welcome to pitch by emailing info@tellussomething.org.

The pitch deadline is February 17th. I look forward to hearing from you.Thank you to our Title Sponsor Blackfoot Communications. Learn more about them at goblackfoot.com. Thank you to our Story Sponsors who help us to pay our storytellers. Missoula Electric Coop , a member-owned rural electric cooperative that serves electricity to members in parts of Montana and Idaho. You can learn more at missoulaelectric.com Thanks to our second story sponsor, The Kettlehouse who strives to match the quality of their beers to the quality of the Montana outdoor experience. Learn more about them at kettlehouse.com. Thank you to our Accessibility Sponsor, Reep Bell and Jasper allowing us to hire American Sign Language interpreters at this event in order to be a more inclusive experience. Learn more about them at westernmontanalaw.com

Thanks to our media sponsors, missoulaevents.net, and Missoula Broadcasting Company learn more about Missoula Broadcasting Company and listen online at missoulabroadcastingcompany.com.

Thanks to our in-kind sponsors: Float Missoula – learn more at floatmsla.com and Joyce of Tile – learn about Joyce and the work that she does at Joyce of Tile.com.

Alright, let’s get back to the stories. You are listening to the Tell Us Something podcast, I’m Marc Moss.

Next up is Jennifer Robohm. Jennifer recounts her 9/11 experience, witnessing the tragedy, offering help, and cherishing acts of unity amidst chaos and despair in NYC. Jennifer calls her story “As the Dust Settled”.

Thanks for listening.

Jennifer Robham: It was a beautiful Tuesday morning, and I soaked in the sun and the clear blue sky on my way into work. I was already at my desk by a quarter to nine, drinking coffee and chatting with a colleague when we heard a truck backfire really loudly outside. It was so loud that it made us both jump. And then we laughed at ourselves like you do.

We thought nothing of it. Until we noticed the sirens. I called a friend who worked in finance because she had a news feed at her desk. Hey, what’s going on by City Hall? She told me a Cessna had just crashed into the World Trade Center.

My office building was three blocks from where the tower stood. I sat at a cubicle on the 11th floor, but I’d go to a small office to make private phone calls. I loved that part of my job because I’d lean back in my chair and I’d look out the window at those unbelievably tall buildings. They were incredible.

But on the morning of 9 11, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The North Tower was in flames, cut in half by the jetliner. Dark plumes of smoke billowed up into the sky and reams of office paper fluttered downward like falling leaves.

I called my parents and we were just trying to make sense of what was happening when the South Tower was hit. By then, my dad was watching on TV, but I couldn’t see the plane. I thought a fireball had exploded from the first building to the second. My father was six foot four, but his voice sounded small when he begged me to find safety.

But daddy, I don’t know where to go. So I stayed, bearing witness. I was still at my post close to an hour later. No, no, no, no, no, no. Fucking God. Fucking God! Fucking God.

There was a low rumbling, and then the South Tower collapsed under its own weight, pancaking to the street below. A huge cloud of dust and debris engulfed the pedestrians who scattered like ants. The, the cloud overtook them one by one, and then slammed in my window and shook our building. And then everything went dark.

I turned to run and nearly tripped over a Latina woman who was watching over my shoulder. She was now crumpled on the ground, being consoled by a friend. Her boyfriend worked in that tower. We all thought we just watched him and thousands of people die.

A garbled voice over the PA system evacuated us to the basement. We were down there for several hours in shock. I was so rattled, I actually asked if we were going to have our staff meeting.

There were no windows, but that’s where we learned that the North Tower had collapsed. We also heard that the Washington Monument in Las Vegas had been destroyed. I guess imaginations run wild when they’ve seen the unimaginable.

An African American woman burst in through the door from the street. She was covered in dust, her hair, her face, every inch of her clothing. And she was absolutely hysterical. I remember thinking, Jen, you’re a psychologist, do something. So I walked her to a quiet corner and helped her lie down and try to slow her panicked breathing.

Her eyes were wide, but sometimes she’d clench them shut. The images that must have been seared there. She grabbed my hand as she told me about being evacuated from her building and then having to run when the second tower collapsed. And then she collapsed into sobbing.

An older woman knelt beside us. She stroked the traumatized woman’s hair. She whispered as she cleaned the dust from her face. It’s okay, baby. Everything’s gonna be okay.

Eventually, they told us we could leave. But the dust covered woman was too afraid. I was desperate to get out of there. The phones were down and I wanted to go and find my partner. But we stayed until we could convince her it would be safe. And then a police officer escorted the woman back out to the street, where it now looked like several inches of dirty snow had fallen.

Um, the older woman and I. We were complete strangers, but we kissed on the lips and we hugged for several seconds before going outside. We were the last ones to leave and I never saw either of those women again.

Back outside, it was chaos. The air was acrid and smoky and the sirens were relentless. The police, uh, sent us toward the Brooklyn Bridge. I changed into volleyball sneakers and ran. I was terrified that another plane would come at any second to take out the bridge or the thousands of people who were streaming across it with me.

Some of them were walking, slowly. They stared straight ahead toward Brooklyn, where the sky was still that gorgeous blue. But others stopped, like I did, and looked back over their shoulders. Where the towers used to be, there was nothing but dust and smoke and debris.

If there is a hell, I know what it looks like. It’s been over

20 years now. I’m getting old.

What I remember most vividly about that fall morning are small gestures of kindness and courage. The man who carried my co worker down the stairs to the basement because she was too grief stricken to walk. My companion who comforted the dust covered woman lying in tears on the floor. The teenagers who sheepishly offered us water on the far side of the Brooklyn Bridge.

And neighbors who lined up late into the night to donate blood, none of which was needed. My first responders were ordinary people. No special training or equipment, just the impulse to do something, anything to make a shitty day just a little bit better for someone else.

After 9 11, I couldn’t cry for days. Not until our sonogram on the 14th made me weep with conflicted joy. We were gonna have a son. I love you, Jack.

It was several weeks before we could return to our office building, and many months before the piles stopped burning and the subways were restored. It was well over a year before we weren’t evacuated constantly due to bomb threats and anthrax scares. And maybe two years before I could hear a low flying airplane without flinching.

Whenever I’d leave New York City, I was surprised to discover that everyone else had moved on. I guess because it was no longer happening to them.

But New Yorkers continued to be kinder to each other. We hugged more. We made more eye contact. We gave up our seats on the train. And when we asked other people how they were doing, we actually slowed down to hear the answer. Honestly, those are some of my fondest memories of the city.

They say, never forget. I wear a subway token around my neck to remind me. I think about that day every September, of course. But I also thought about it a lot during the pandemic, and I think about it now when I despair about climate change and war and the existential threats we’re facing. I can’t help but wonder which version of us is going to show up.

If you’re looking for hope, maybe I can offer you this. On 9 11, we leaned into each other, recognizing our shared humanity. We worked together despite our differences because we needed each other to survive. We understood that looking out for ourselves meant looking out for other people. And we rose to the occasion, even when really hard things were happening.

In my darkest moments, that’s what I choose to remember. About that horrible, and yet beautiful, Tuesday morning. Thank you.

Marc Moss:
Thanks, Jennifer.
Jennifer Robohm moved to Montana from the East Coast to be closer to her twin sister and to have an adventure. That adventure turned into a life! Jen is a clinical psychologist who’s been teaching at the University of Montana for close to 20 years. She lives in Missoula with her partner, Nadia; her son, Jack, is a UM senior. Jen loves the Missoula community and the Montana outdoors.

Closing out this episode of the Tell Us Something, podcast, Linds Sanders recounts a series of encounters in which strangers share their deep grief with her, painting profound connections amid loss, teaching empathy, and illuminating the beauty in life’s small, poignant details.

Linds calls her story “Peanut Butter & Peonies”

Thanks for listening.

Linds Sanders: Okay.

Eat the mic. That was from our storyteller workshop.

When I was 18, I worked at the KOA call center. People would call in asking for directions to campsites, change their campsite reservation, But most often, they call to get their password changed for their online account. Back then, you couldn’t get a password reset email, you had to call the 1 800 number, and that was me.

I took dozens of these calls a day, and I assured people, I will not remember your password. One afternoon, a man called in, he must have been in his 70s or 80s, to change his password. Took about two minutes, I don’t remember his password. I asked him, is there anything else I can help you with? And almost in response to that question, he let me know this was the first time he was traveling since his wife died.

They started traveling when they had kids. But then their kids grew up and became adults and had families of their own, but they just kept traveling because they loved it so much. She would make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for their road trips, and she’d kiss him on the cheek when they crossed state lines.

He’s trying to make those peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. It should be pretty simple, he says, but they just don’t taste the same. And that’s everything since she’s been gone. Maybe it should be straightforward, but he just can’t seem to do it. He laments that he should probably let me go now, and he hangs up the phone.

There’s this flat screen television above my head, listing my name and my co workers names, tracking the duration of our phone calls. My name is in red, highlighting inefficiency. The 38 minutes.

Fast forward a couple years and I’m a student at the University of Montana. I’m doing an art assignment drawing outside under the shade of a cedar tree. And, uh, there’s a football game apparently. It has concluded. Someone won. And now there’s this ocean of people dressed in maroon and gray leeching out of the stadium in all directions.

I am feeling so grateful that I chose this, like, meandering path that is off of the main arterial sidewalks that leads to the parking lots. Still, a woman straggles from the crowd, comes down my pathway. I don’t look up from my drawing, I figure she’ll just keep walking by. But then I feel her presence next to me.

She says to me, do you know what this building is? Now, there are a lot of beautiful buildings on campus. This is not one of them. It is this anonymous brick rectangle. I tell her, I don’t. She says, this is where my husband worked for 18 years. He was a botanist studying ferns and he died recently. I’m paying attention now.

This building is important. She says to me, my whole garden is ferns now. I tore up all the flowers, it’s all ferns. And when they erupt from the ground and spring and unfurl their leaves, I think of him and I miss him every day. And she’s starting to cry now. And just as abruptly as she’s come into my life, she turns and she leaves, walking down the path, rejoining that ocean of maroon and gray.

Now, maybe this would be strange if it weren’t for this reoccurring phenomenon in my life of strangers telling me their grief stories. Sometimes they last for 38 minutes, sometimes for 2 minutes, sometimes for 2 hours, like it did last summer. I just finished hiking Mount Sentinel, the mountain behind our campus.

Um, I live nearby, so the trailhead is walking distance from home. When I was on the top, there had been a summer thunderstorm that rolled in, and I had to bolt down and gain cover under trees. But now, the thunder had moved on, the rain had subsided, the clouds were still hanging in the air. I came down the trailhead, trekking poles in hand, my headphones in, I’m listening to my audio book, I pass by a man chatting, and he’s talking to me.

I, uh, put on my headphones, what? He asked me, have you seen the peony garden? The man, he’s in his 60s, dark wash, denim jeans. buttoned shirt. Baseball cap on. And the peony garden he’s referring to is the memorial peony garden, with over a hundred varieties of peonies. And they are in bloom and their flowers are the size of ice cream scoops, and they are white, and pink, and yellow, and, I tell him, in fact I have, and it’s one of my favorite places of Missoula.

He says to me, Peony are my wife’s favorite flower, and today is our 40th wedding anniversary. She died two years ago. And this is always how the conversations start, with this blunt admission of death. And that’s death. It’s final, it’s in your face, it’s unforgiving. And he’s seeing how I’m going to respond.

Am I going to ignore what he said? Oh, yeah, you know, there’s a western peony in this garden? Am I gonna put up a wall of sympathy? Oh, I am so sorry for your loss, that’s terrible. Or will I lean in? Which is what I try to always do. I learn not only were peony her favorite flower, but turtles were her favorite animal, and he would call her my little turtle.

I learned about the life that they built together, that she was a teacher, that she fought cancer, and I learned of how she died when the cancer returned, and that their back porch was her favorite place to watch sunsets, and how his friends and family rallied behind him when the grief first happened, but now that it’s been a couple of years, he feels embarrassed and like he can’t really lean into their support anymore.

Now, I want to keep talking, but my legs are really tired. I just hiked that mountain. But these transitions are tricky. We can transition deeper, and it’s also a chance to transition out. So I kind of edge towards a bench, and I invite him to sit down, and he does. And there’s this mutual trust between us that we both are enjoying this conversation, and we both want to continue.

And so we do, we keep talking as the clouds turn yellow and orange and underline in pink, leading us to another transition. It will be dark soon. So I offer to walk him back to his hotel. He’s just passing through. This area of town, everything is nearby, and it’s cleaved in half at the Clark Fork River, along which is the bike path.

And so we walk along it together, and we’re talking about poetry and travel and the West Coast, and it might sound like we’re not talking about grief anymore, but that’s the thing about grief. It’s like the central nervous system of a body. If you take away the skin, the bones, the muscle, and leave behind just the nervous system, you will still see a perfect outline of the human body down to the intricacies of a fingertip.

That’s grief. It holds us all together, and some days it threatens to tear us apart. But tonight, I like to believe it held us together and bound us to one another. I say goodbye to him in the parking lot of his hotel and begin my walk home alone, trekking poles in hand, headphones around my neck. And it might sound like I’m the kind stranger in these stories, but I disagree.

It is them who have taught me the importance of buildings that some people just walk on by. How complicated a peanut butter and jelly sandwich can be. And the real beauty of a peony flower. They have taken the time to introduce me to the most beloved people in their life. This world could not afford to lose, but lost anyways.

The thing is, I have my own grief. A grief that has me with one foot firmly planted on this stage and another foot in the land of what if. A grief that has me looking for something I lost and I just can’t seem to find it. A grief that has me against all odds wishing that there was one person in this audience sitting next to one of you.

And I know that she’s not.

That grief can be pretty isolating sometimes.

But as I walk home in the dark, streetlights coming on, I feel a glow. I feel gratitude. And thanks to the kindness of these strangers, I don’t feel so alone.

Thanks, Linds.
Linds Sanders is a Montanan who has a habit of saying “yes” to experiences that scare her such as saving house spiders, learning to rock climb, working with preteens, and–most recently–sharing a story at Tell Us Something. It’s much easier for her to pursue the passions she loves such as poetry, art, traveling, and spending time with friends and strangers alike. Currently, she is in graduate school pursuing a degree in Clinical Mental Health Counseling with an interest in grief work. She works as a counseling intern at Tamarack Grief Resource Center where she has the honor of holding close the stories of others. Learn more about Linds at tellussomething.org.

Remember that the next Tell Us Something event is March 266th. You can learn about how to pitch your story and get tickets at tellussomething.org.