The Dash Poem

by Linda Ellis

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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 her tombstone
From the beginning to the end

He noted that first came her date of her birth
And spoke 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
That she spent alive on earth.
And now only those who loved her
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 can still be rearranged.

If we could just slow down enough
To consider what’s true and real
And always try to understand
The way other people feel.

And 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 spent your dash?

We suffer and we grieve
when we lose someone whom we’ve loved
and it brings us comfort to believe
that they’ve been called from "up above."

And often times I’ll wonder
in the things I do and see
if somehow they’re trying to let me know
that they are watching over me.

I believe more each day
that flukes occurring just by chance
don’t happen by coincidence,
or by simple happenstance.

And I’ll find myself wondering
if each incident is a clue,
or if I should dare to consider asking
the question, "Is That You?"

Is that you in the vivid flower
standing in the midst of the weeds and grass
or in the multi-colored prism reflected
from the light upon my glass?

Is that you in the ray of sunshine
that I feel warm upon my back
or in the most brilliant star that shines
as the sky fades into black?

Is that you in the whirlpool of autumn leaves
captured by the breeze
or in the single leaf that will grace my path
as I walk beneath the trees?

Is that you in the sign that suddenly appears
when it seems I’ve lost my way –
or in the strip of clear blue sky
peering through clouds of stormy gray?

Is that you in the lone butterfly
that appears before its season
or in the smile of a passing stranger
that I receive without a reason?

These occasions have begun
to somehow calm my sorrow and fear.
For though you’re gone, they may be your way
of showing me that you're still near.