My timing to visit my mother this month was perfect. I was in Austin with her when she learned that her older brother was dying in Baltimore. It was so good to be with her during that time to listen to her memories of growing up in the foothills of the Appalachians. I was also able to be with her in West Virginia the following week for his funeral. We stayed in the home she grew up in, now owned by one of my cousins. She slept in her parents’ bedroom while I slept in the bedroom full of memories from my childhood visits: sounds, sights, smells, and so much love. My aunt, mother, brothers, and cousins laid my uncle to rest on the land that he loved on his 95th birthday. His oldest daughter gave a wonderful eulogy to celebrate his life as she talked about his legacy.
As we were together, two poems came to mind, written about the dash on our headstones, the years between our birth and death. We don’t often realize how quickly time passes or how we sometimes squander the precious moments given to us. Each poem points out how we want to come to the end of our dash without regrets or unhealed relationships. When our time comes, our hopes are that we will be remembered by how much we loved and by the part of us we left with those around us. As Linda Ellis wrote in her poem, “What matters is how we live and love and how we spend our dash. So, think about this long and hard. Are there things you'd like to change? For you never know how much time is left that can still be rearranged. If we could just slow down enough to consider what's true and real.” We are still unfinished, still working on our dash. As spring starts to bloom, I hope you will slow down and take time to look for the possibilities right in front of you as you reflect on your dash and continue to stretch forward.
