The Dash

Reflections on 2 years without my mother

A close friend of the family, Frankie P., was known for his jokes and magic tricks whenever he’d come visit us at the farm. Frankie had been around since my grandfather was a kid, and while he wasn’t related by blood, he was just as close as if he was.

While usually known for his lighthearted style, during special occasions like weddings, he often got sentimental. One of his favorite speeches to give was about the dash—the most important feature on any tombstone.

Frankie would explain that so much life happened within that mark, a whole life that was lived. The joy of it, the heartbreak. Taking your first steps, going to school, getting married, creating a family of your own. All the morning cups of coffees, the sleepy Sunday afternoons. Holidays. Birthdays. Break Ups. Snuggles with your pets. There are so many things that seemingly get omitted when we memorialize a life.

I’ve been thinking about that a lot as I’ve felt suspended in the dash of my mother’s life these past couple days—Born April 20th, died April 22nd. Riding the waves of deep grief followed by extreme gratefulness, knowing that the pain is a privilege that comes from experiencing true, unconditional love. Oddly this year, the first part of this string of days seemed hardest. Maybe because life’s been so busy that I wasn’t really mentally prepared to come up on these anniversaries until they were upon us. But today is a beautiful day, very much like my mom’s last day earthside, somewhat unusually warm for late April, with the added bonus of some of her daffodils still lingering in the yard. Today I’m taking the time to listen to the birds, sip my coffee slowly, and feel the warm spring sun on my skin.

I’m choosing to live fully in this moment and feel all of it—the grief and the joy, heartbreak and love—not just for me, but for her.

To celebrate her dash. And to continue creating mine.