Visiting my dad’s gravesite, I often wondered who these other people were next to him; what did they do; what were they like; what did they stand for?
All that was left to remember them was their name and the dates of their birth and death. But there was more to their life than those facts. Then I realized their lives were contained in the dash between those dates.
I am living my “dash.” What will my “dash” speak in my stead, when I am gone?
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