Steadfast

There’s a historic cemetery that I like to visit in the early morning.  It’s quite humbling and enlightening to witness the sun peer through the tall pines and illuminate the worn marble headstones of the departed.  No matter what may be troubling me, as I make my way around the solemn paths of graves, I gain somber perspective and inevitably I think of my father.  

My father was a simple man, not formally educated.  All he ever wanted was to have a good time and take care of his family.  He never really ventured far from home, and I remember how I resented this.  More than a decade after his death, I’ve come to realize the beauty in the simplicity of his life – he loved being home.  Jack Dunphy was forever steadfast.  

At some point during my walk, I’ll focus on a particular headstone.  I read the name and observe the carved dates in the stone.  I begin to wonder what their life was like; whether they were happy or not and what it must feel like to be dead for a couple of hundred years.  It’s eerily sobering to ponder my existence in these terms:  that we’ll all be dead at some point… and time will continue on, generation after generation, but to what avail?  Is there a divine plan?  Or just random passage of time and events that shapes and misshapes our lives.