Walking through the cemetery, I weave my way through rows and rows of weathered headstones. Some stand at attention like sentinels. Some are sprawled on the ground, slumbering. Whether erect or reclined, each of these stones marks the final resting places of so many from so long ago.
I take note of the names inscribed on the stones—a few familiar, most unknown. Birth and death dates are chiseled under the names of the deceased.
On many of these markers, the dates are linked by a small line. Almost insignificant, this little en dash seems inconsequential.
But I know that this mark represents so much more than what is first perceived, especially to family historians like me.
For you see, we know it’s all about the dash. It’s about the life lived between a person’s first breath and final heartbeat.
And so, I will tell the stories of our ancestors, detailing their lives within the dashes. I wonder what their stories will say…