Have you ever read the poem "The Dash"? It is about distilling the contents of ones life into that dash in between their birth date and death date on their headstone. It is about how that dash really is insufficient.
And it really is woefully insufficient.
Tuesday, the 10th of March, my Grandmother died. My Mom's Mom, my Grandfather's beloved wife. That dash does not tell you anything about the woman that was my Grandmother.The woman who fed us Apples and peanut butter as lunch, and let us choose any flavor of soda from the selection in the basement, even if it was the very last one. The Dash does not tell you about the card games we played as a family, or the countless games of Yahtzee, she played with us individually. It does not tell you the countless times she and my Grandfather dropped what they were doing to come to the rescue of their grandkids even just picking us up from school. It does not tell you that their house their arms and their hearts where always open to us.
And it does not tell you what the second date on that stone has done to my Grandfather. I have never seen him cry before this past couple weeks. I miss my Grandmother, but my life moves forward, my kids have to be taken care of, and the dishes must be done and the laundry must be run. I cant imagine having the void in my daily life that my Grandfather now has. This October would have been 70 years of marriage.
Even now, anything I write seems woefull insufficient, but not as insufficient as the dash.