Dying Wiser #14: “It’s all about ‘The Dash’”

On Dashes and Gaps and all that’s in between

[Preface: Prior to Dad’s death on March 15, 2023, I had already drafted a number of blog posts with the intent of sending them out, as the moment’s inspiration dictated, on the typical Friday afternoon timeline. Then those moments of expectation changed, thanks to Dementia; the course of our lives altered drastically during the last few weeks of February and then into March. Everything was turned upside down.

THIS was one of those posts drafted earlier in January. I’ve decided to publish those previously drafted posts as written, without revising them to reflect Dad’s death (e.g. no present tenses will be changed to past tenses—if at the time I looked forward to doing something with Dad in the future, the writing will still reflect that). I feel that the writing that was written then, with Dad still alive at that time, adds a certain pathos and melancholy to the sentiments I intended at the time. Regardless, the Elderings are timeless anyway, so…at least there’s that too. Thanks for your continued reading. I provide a brief update on things at the end of this post.]

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English 101–Your teachable moment of the day! (And you thought there were only math lessons here!).

Let’s polish up your grammar!

Did you know that in the English language, there are three different kinds of dashes one can use in one’s writing? Yep-a-doodle! Three. And one of them is the star of today’s post—well, kinda. (See what I did there?).

I’ll plant all three at some point in today’s post; it’ll be up to you to spot ‘em all. One will be quite obvious because, after all, it IS the star of the post. And it has everything to do with my Dad. But because this is a post of the “Dying Wiser-themed” variety, we’ll use literature to surface the wisdom, and use Dad’s lived examples to provide the teaching and Eldering. Here we go!

They were walking amidst the tombstones, these two Joans, in a small cemetery on the grounds of an old Episcopalian church on Cape Cod—much like you can still find outside those wonderfully old Parishes back east, especially in New England. If you ever have the chance to go to places like Boston, especially Boston, place on your “to do” list a couple walks past some of these cemeteries. They really are amazing.

The Elder Joan says aloud in earshot of the younger Joan:

“You know,” she says, turning her eyes on me. “It really doesn’t matter how much time you have on this earth, as much as what you make of it.”

“Excuse me?” I move closer to give my undivided attention.

“It’s all about that right there,” she says, taking the point of her cane and laying it in between [the dates of birth and death on one of the old tombstones she stood in front of], “how much you make of your dash. I was amused once to find a poem on this very idea.” And then, she pulls herself upright and begins reciting something about the date of birth and the date of death, but the dash speaks for all the time one spends on earth. “Quite a concept, isn’t it,” she says while gazing back at the tombstone. “Obviously, [this man] was a family man. Who knows what else he did, but I can promise you, it’s more than the dash reveals. Every time I visit a cemetery, I’m reminded to squeeze just a little more out of my day.”

The above is taken from a remarkable memoir called “A Walk On the Beach: Tales of Wisdom from an Uncommon Woman” by Joan Anderson (Broadway Books, NY. 2004. The passage is found on pages 52-3). I don’t remember how it was that I came to read this particular book, but it has become one of the books securely nestled in my Top 10 of all the books I’ve ever read (yes, I keep lists like that!”). I’ve also read this book a couple of times already—and I’m likely to read it again soon for obvious reasons.

The second Joan, Joan Erickson, Joan the Elder as it were, was the wife of the renowned artist-turned-psychologist Erik Erickson, a contemporary of Sigmund Freud. The memoir captures a specific moment in time when the two Joans meet for the first time on a beach in Cape Cod and strike up an enduring friendship that lasts for the remainder of the elder Joan’s life. It is a book of Elderings from a wise, wise woman. It is a book of healing, a book of Soul.

I gifted this wonderful book to a dear special education teacher from one of my past staffs who retired on my watch. Sadly, the summer after she retired, we were brought back together at a memorial service at my past school for a young teacher who had died tragically in a mountain climbing accident. My retired colleague and I met prior to the service and talked about the young teacher’s dash—that all too brief span of time between her birth and sudden death. Her dash should have been longer, much longer. But the life she placed there, in her dash, was most certainly joyful—she died doing what she loved. And she lived with joy, wonder, and light—at least that is how it looked from my vantage point at the time.

“It really doesn’t matter how much time you have on this earth, as much as what you make of it.”

Back in March of 2016, my Dad personally came up with the idea of this headstone which currently houses the cremains of mom. Both the angels and the rosary figured prominently in mom’s life (not so much Dad’s which, I think, is yet another endearing example of Dad’s unselfish and giving nature—this was for mom, not him. He, as usual, was content to linger in the background of things.) And the phrase “Together Forever” was to capture how Dad wanted them to be together in the same vault that lies beneath the stone. Those were his words now etched into eternity (or rather, into the lifespan of this concrete and marble memorial—for it, too, has its own dash!).

This headstone, unlike many if not most, does not have “the dash.” It has, “the gap.” But the exact same sentiments apply. Both the gap and the dash are implied even as the life lived is not. Right now, “the gap” for Dad is not really a gap because it isn’t bounded by an end date, just as you can see in the photo; it is just an open space that keeps on getting wider. But off in that distance there, that horizon, we know the threshold of darkness awaits. Its formless contours we are starting to see come together in its inevitable approach. You can’t have a gap, or dash even, without the establishment of boundaries. Mom’s gap has boundaries—which is why it is her gap. Dad is still working on, and inside of, his gap. The gap, or dashes on other headstones, will materialize when the final date gets added—it’s boundary line, the life’s dash, then clearly defined. On the headstone at least.

Beginnings and Endings:

From the ancestors of our antiquity, and from a renaissance of today’s mystics, we’ve come to understand or intuit that the spirit accesses our bodies, and our bodies access spirit, through the breath. Our ethereal “spirit-ness” is intimately interwoven with the materialistic forms of our bodies—with each breath we take. One of my favorite words in the English language is the word “inspire.” And I love all it’s forms (e.g. inspiration, inspirational, “in-spirit”). “Inspire,” along with it the definition of ‘inspiration’ (to breath in), also literally means “in spirit.” As we breath, we invite an intimacy with spirit; with every breath, we take in the world, and we give generously of ourselves back to the world with our out-breath. It’s quite a sacred circle if you think about it.

Tibetan buddhists even have a practice called “Tonglen.” It’s a practice using the breath to inspire transformation into the world. Breathing in you imagine taking in all the darkness, and hurt, and trauma of the world (yes! take it in—intentionally breath it in. You can actually visualize breathing in a heavy and dark smoke to represent the world’s suffering), then you let your compassionate, loving, and generous heart transform that pain and darkness into warmth and light and healing, from which you then exhale this newly transformed energy and healing light and breath back out into the world—a world that is so in need of this kind of transformation. Tonglen cultivates compassion—it capitalizes on the heart’s innate capacity to heal, transforming all that is negative and dark into beautiful light. It works. You can try it yourself. But if you do, give yourself the gift of grace and devote ample silence, stillness, and solitude to this sacred practice. Then, if you do, YOU will be transformed too. This is guaranteed. Your heart’s light goes through you first before it reaches anyone else.

We have an inner divinity from which we are at home, in and among the Anima Mundi, or the Soul of the world. We don’t so much have a Soul within us, but our inner Soul or divinity IS the individual and unique manifestation of the Soul that surrounds us. We live within Soul. The energy and spirit that resides within each of us, upon our death, simply returns to the universal energy and Soul that exists all around us—hidden from our human ability to perceive it.

John O’Donohue wrote, “Each of our breaths comes in pairs. Except the first in-breath, and the final out-breath.” Somewhere in the great cosmic origins of things, when we took our first in-breath, perhaps it was then that our guardian angel began the first markings of our dash. Ahead of that angelic quill lay the entirety of our life and legacy, yet to be recorded by the innumerable inhalations and exhalations that would bring life and spirit to our dash. Our angel only finishing their task with the lifting of that sacred quill from now-sacred parchment as we take our final exhale.

John O’Donohue could have gone just one step further. He should have gone one step further and I’m a little surprised he didn’t. Because, I believe, even that first in-breath and that final out-breath do indeed have their own pairings…namely, each other. Our very first breath as newborns awaits through our entire life to be joined with its mate, bonded by destiny—our final exhalation upon death. They are paired, joined together, by the dash that is our life. And by coming back together at our ending, the cycle that was our life, our “lifecycle,” was thereby closed just as nature intended always: the very first moment of our dash begins with an inhale; the very ending moment of our dash, ends with our last and final exhale. We are cosmic loops of Soul manifested for such an all too brief period of time as human bodies on this lonely planet—dates we humbly etch on granite in cement. The brightness of that loop, that glows for all the rest to see from gravestones and from memories, depends upon how we lived the length of the angelic grammatical marking.

How we lived our dash.

“It really doesn’t matter how much time you have on this earth, as much as what you make of it.”

I guess to end this post, there is really only one question that is left begging to be asked…

“What are you making of YOUR dash?”

…and then answered by the only person who can…you.

You are learning how Dad is attending to his; judgments upon IT no one else but Dad has any right to.

And yet…and yet.

His is glowing already, even as it is, as yet, unfinished.

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T plus ___ days…and counting. May you bring compassion, awareness, and joy to the dash that is uniquely yours and may you contribute the same to the dashes of others. Your dash may materialize sooner than you intend—in fact, it kinda always does! So may it glow from the warmth and light of this life you live. Live it well.

May you make the most of your dash.

[March 24, 2023 Postscript update:

Dad’s “dash” and final date will be added to the gravestone memorialized forever, now, at Holy Rosary Cemetery in Moxee:

September 12, 1938 — March 15, 2023

…added as “a gap” instead of an actual dash in keeping with the style he wished. I will post a new picture of mom and Dad’s stone when it is complete and when it holds within its sacred space and clay the remains of both. As I write this update in the very early hours of Friday, March 24, Clary, Trevor, and I, yesterday, on Thursday, a week and a day from his death, attended to Dad’s body as it was cremated. By itself, it was a solemn final hour we that were able to spend with Dad, exchanging stories, before we walked with his body to his threshold; my brothers and I accompanying Dad to the very last step we could on his Journey Home—and then, with one of the four universal elements to accompany him further, fire, we let him go. I’ll write more about this later as it was a profound Eldering for each of us—too poignant not to share with all of you as another Eldering from Dad. Vigil and Funeral plans, including the option to “attend virtually” by zoom are firming up well. I will post that information in its final form at the start of the week of April 10. Everything is coming into place exactly as we wished; the Universe continues to respond.

And I haven’t forgotten about the strawberry ice cream either—it’ll keep in the freezer until it’s time.]

With Love, always Love,

🙏🏼

Kert

“Be generative. Pass on what you know. In sharing there is real delight. People in every stage depend on other people. Out of connection, real growth happens. If there is no reciprocity, nothing ever works.”

~ Joan Erickson