Dear Ancestor,
Your tombstone stands among the rest;
Neglected and alone,
The name and date are chiseled out,
On polished marble stone.
It reaches out to all who care,
It is not too late to mourn.
You did not know that I exist.
You died and I was born.
Yet each of us are cells of you, in flesh and blood and bone.
Our blood contract and beats a pulse entirely on its own.
The place you filled many years ago spreads out among those left.
I wonder if you lived and loved,
Leaving memories for the bereft.
I wonder if you knew someday that I would find this spot,
To mark your name in history, and always in ones thought.

Author unknown.

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I read of a man who stood to speak at the funeral of a friend. He referred to the dates on the tombstone from the beginning… to the end.
He noted that first came the date of birth and spoke of the following date with tears, but he said what mattered most of all was the dash between those years.
For that dash represents all the time they spent alive on earth and now only those who loved them know what that little line is worth.
For it matters not, how much we own, the cars… the house… the cash. 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 still can be rearranged.
To be less quick to anger and show appreciation more and love the people in our lives like we’ve never loved before.
If we treat each other with respect and more often wear a smile… remembering that this special dash might only last a little while.
So when your eulogy is being read, with your life’s actions to rehash, would you be proud of the things they say about how you lived your dash?

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+

Dear Ancestor,
Your tombstone stands among the rest;
Neglected and alone,
The name and date are chiseled out,
On polished marble stone.
It reaches out to all who care,
It is not too late to mourn.
You did not know that I exist.
You died and I was born.
Yet each of us are cells of you, in flesh and blood and bone.
Our blood contract and beats a pulse entirely on its own.
The place you filled many years ago spreads out among those left.
I wonder if you lived and loved,
Leaving memories for the bereft.
I wonder if you knew someday that I would find this spot,
To mark your name in history, and always in ones thought.

Author unknown.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

I read of a man who stood to speak at the funeral of a friend. He referred to the dates on the tombstone from the beginning… to the end.
He noted that first came the date of birth and spoke of the following date with tears, but he said what mattered most of all was the dash between those years.
For that dash represents all the time they spent alive on earth and now only those who loved them know what that little line is worth.
For it matters not, how much we own, the cars… the house… the cash. 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 still can be rearranged.
To be less quick to anger and show appreciation more and love the people in our lives like we’ve never loved before.
If we treat each other with respect and more often wear a smile… remembering that this special dash might only last a little while.
So when your eulogy is being read, with your life’s actions to rehash, would you be proud of the things they say about how you lived your dash?

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*+