I’m walking through a cemetery in Shiprock, New Mexico, looking for my great-grandfather’s grave. On the horizon sits the Shiprock itself, a sacred mountain that is blue today underneath the gray sky. It is the only marker on the skyline.
All around me are dirt mounds, flowers, American flags, and wire decorations. Many of the mounds have glasses of water on top of them.
During our tour of the reservation, we drove by a mental health facility. My grandpa Hanagarne told me this joke:
“That’s the place where everyone says,’Why am I in here? Because I’m not all there.'”
It has been a great day
And yet, as I look at each mound, I know that there was a day on which each of these graves was surrounded by people whose hearts were broken. That every day is somebody’s worst day.
Maybe even today.
Make yours a good one.
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