THE HYPHEN

THE HYPHEN

By Duncan 

I found an open pew at Bethel United Methodist Church in Indianapolis on a Saturday morning as the service was about to begin. 

Bob Mason, a high school classmate of mine, had been moved to hospice. I considered him a friend, and I believe he considered me a friend, too. When a person is moved to hospice, it usually means the end of life is near. Not always, but in most cases, hospice is the last move we make before we surrender to the unknown. This concept of 'surrendering to the unknown' makes me ponder my own life.  

A week later, I received a call from John Etchison, another 1962 high school classmate.  He took a deep breath and hesitated. I knew what he was about to say. Bob had passed. The service arrangements, or the Celebration of Life as it’s called these days, will be announced when more information is available. 

The Celebration was set to be held on Saturday morning in this small Methodist Church on the northwest side of Indianapolis. I left home early so I wouldn’t be late for the 11:00 AM service. 

While I don’t know every minute detail of Bob’s life, I do know that it was significant. He visited me in North Fort Myers, Florida, during a road trip, and we spent a couple of days together. We laughed, ate good food, and I showed him the sights. I remember the time he made a prohibitive U-turn in his big blue Cadillac, which led to us being pulled over by the police. The flashing red and blue lights at night brought attention to our mistake, but it also highlighted the vibrancy of Bob's life.  

As the pastor stood behind the podium, he began by sharing the numbers that bookended Bob’s life: his date of birth and death. But it was his words about the hyphen that truly resonated. He pointed out that a graveyard lay across the street from the church, and if you were to walk through it, you would notice the headstones. Each one bore the name of the deceased, the date of birth, a hyphen, and the date of death.

He said that the three-inch hyphen represents an entire life. It's a stark reminder of life's brevity and the need to make the most of our time.

It wasn't difficult for me to imagine the headstones in the graveyard across the street. The pastor was correct. That three-inch hyphen between the dates represents an entire life.

How is that possible? The family sees the hyphen as brother, sister, husband, father, and grandfather. Bob was blessed with four children, fifteen grandchildren, and twenty-one great-grandchildren. 

The pastor reminded us of Bob’s good works: high school, Air Force, firefighter, and church member. Sitting in the sanctuary was interesting, listening to a friend's good works and thinking, “I didn’t know that about Bob!” Then, it was mentioned that he didn’t want a celebration or a tribute to his life. (I get that!) But here we are.

As I sat in the church, I couldn't help but internalize what would happen when I die. What will be said about me after I am gone? What will be my hyphen? These are questions that we all ponder at some point in our lives, and they carry a weight that is both universal and deeply personal.

I often use this scenario when someone loses a job. Make a fist, put your hand in a bucket of water, and then pull your hand out of the water as fast as possible. Observe how quickly the hole in the water disappears. Will my hyphen be the hand that leaves the bucket of water? 

As I sit listening to the pastor talk about life in general, he is now talking about the “afterlife,” or, in plain English, what happens after we die. I can’t help but think, I don’t want to go there just yet. I’m thinking about ‘this right-now life.’ Yes, I want to focus on my living, breathing "Hyphen."

If I hold a magnifying glass over my hyphen, is my hyphen three inches long? Do I have an inch to go? Of course, we all ponder such things at some point. 

My hyphen was Public School #49 to Pike High School, then college, the Air Force, marriage, and growing a family. My father always told me I needed to prioritize my life—God, Family, and Work, in that order. 

So, do we have the same experience? 

The first twenty years:  Education. 

The next forty years: Work, earning a living. 

The last twenty years:  Coast. Enjoy life. 

Yes, this is an oversimplification.  

I watched "The Elevation of Man" on YouTube the other night. They mentioned that the first known handprint on a cave wall dates back around 200,000 years. This indicates someone wanted to be remembered after they were gone. Additionally, other cave art dates back 40,000 years. 

Why is it important that we be remembered? I have experienced the deaths of my grandparents and parents. I have pictures scattered across the house of everyone I just mentioned. So, is it my way of remembering or a tribute to my life? It’s not hard to realize it will happen to me, too. As I age, my high school classmates and close friends continue to leave ahead of me, a constant reminder that life is only three inches long.