There’ll be two dates on your tombstone, and all your friends will read ’em but all that’s gonna matter is that little dash between ’em.
~ Kevin Welch
A woman, shoulders hunched against the persistent March wind, gazed at the marble headstone before her. Head bowed, she seemed to be in meditation or reliving memories. I felt, no absorbed, her moody somberness as my husband and I threaded our way through the Ft. Snelling cemetery.
We were looking for my father’s grave, number 3165, in a sea of conformity. Row upon row of markers stood with soldier-like vigilance. It was both confusing and unbelievable. We had been there many times before but new graves spread before us in precise lines and muddy rectangles, obscuring what was.