On my run this morning I stopped by to visit my grandpa in the park. Looking over that vast ocean of grave markers, it occurred to me that no matter our standing, wealth, or lineage, we all end up in the same place in the end.
Passing the memorial to drunk driving victims on the way out, I pondered the many ways we can care for each other but choose not to. And I noticed the names that surrounded me, family names that span the world — some I could not even pronounce. I remembered that we all came from somewhere, near or far, but we all ended up here.
So maybe in the short time each of us has, we can try to be a little more understanding, a smidge more accepting, a tiny bit less hateful. Because in the end, we are all just a few words on a headstone and the memories we have left behind.