Dia de los Muertos (day of the dead) is a mexican holiday with roots that extend back some 2500 years. It is traditionally celebrated November 1st and 2nd - a time to gather with family and friends to remember and pray for loved ones who have died. Altars are set up with marigolds, skulls, and the favorite food and beverage of the deceased. Parades are held and festivals with skulls and skeleton figurines everywhere. In Albuquerque, the annual Marigold Parade is held November 4th. I missed it this year, but plan on attending next year.
Something about this holiday intrigues me. It serves a much better purpose than Halloween has come to mean. Our own Halloween, or All Hallow's Eve, stems from a similar background - remembering the dead; or a more pagan version being that it is a time when then the veil between our world and the dead thins - allowing the dead to come through and visit us once more. Today's Halloween has become a selfish excuse for children to beg for candy and eat until sick; for adults to allow themselves to become silly children for a night (not a bad thing!); for churches to rail against (and yet come up with some unique ways of celebrating the night, still having candy and calling it something different). Day of the Dead seems to me a much better holiday. What better way to remember our departed loved ones than a celebration, a remembrance of their lives, prayers lifted up?!
We all have our own ways to remembering. For my family, well, for my Mom, who taught me, the tradition was to keep flowers on the graves. It was something immensely important to her - that they not be forgotten, that the graves be tended lovingly in remembrance. She changed the silk flowers out every season and for each holiday - July 4th, Christmas, Easter, etc. I even remember when visiting relatives that she always made time to go by the cemetary in those towns to pay respects to lost family. Many, many times when I lived at home, I went with her. She taught me how to stuff the vases with the green florist blocks, and arrange the flowers so it didn't show. Although I'm sure she despaired of me ever being really great at flower arranging! LOL! And I often remember asking to go with her if I had come home for a visit from far away. It's peaceful there at the cemetary. Not morbid at all. A respectful silence - like a breath held a moment in anticipation. It was comforting to me - a way of embracing my brother and great aunt (and now mother and close friends), cherishing their memory and their love. It grounds me, helping me to remember my roots, and to see how far up I have grown. Silly as it may sound, I talk to them while I'm there. Yes, I have chosen to continue my mother's tradition. Although I no longer live in town, whenever I am there, I put new flowers there. Even for my good friend, Terry, whose marker doesn't have a vase - I stick them in the ground beside the marker, even though I know the groundskeepers will just pull them up again when they mow. It's not how long they last. It's that I remember, that I still care, my respectful thanks for their presence in my life.
So yes, I talk to them as well. I tell them that I miss them. That I still remember. I tell them a little about my life now. I tell them I won't forget. Hmmm, perhaps the visits are more for me than for them. But no matter, I will continue the tradition. It's something I can still do for my mother and for myself. Hopefully, although I do not have children, I can pass this tradition on to someone else as well. Tradition keeps us all connected.
And so I urge you to take some time during this celebration to remember your own traditions, your own departed loved ones - not with sadness or regret, but with happiness that they are connected to you and still live on in your heart.
If you see me at the cemetary some day when I am in town, feel free to join me. I'll be the one arranging the new flowers and dusting off the edges of the markers... Maybe someday I'll live closer and can change the flowers more often. Mom would like that.
Something about this holiday intrigues me. It serves a much better purpose than Halloween has come to mean. Our own Halloween, or All Hallow's Eve, stems from a similar background - remembering the dead; or a more pagan version being that it is a time when then the veil between our world and the dead thins - allowing the dead to come through and visit us once more. Today's Halloween has become a selfish excuse for children to beg for candy and eat until sick; for adults to allow themselves to become silly children for a night (not a bad thing!); for churches to rail against (and yet come up with some unique ways of celebrating the night, still having candy and calling it something different). Day of the Dead seems to me a much better holiday. What better way to remember our departed loved ones than a celebration, a remembrance of their lives, prayers lifted up?!
We all have our own ways to remembering. For my family, well, for my Mom, who taught me, the tradition was to keep flowers on the graves. It was something immensely important to her - that they not be forgotten, that the graves be tended lovingly in remembrance. She changed the silk flowers out every season and for each holiday - July 4th, Christmas, Easter, etc. I even remember when visiting relatives that she always made time to go by the cemetary in those towns to pay respects to lost family. Many, many times when I lived at home, I went with her. She taught me how to stuff the vases with the green florist blocks, and arrange the flowers so it didn't show. Although I'm sure she despaired of me ever being really great at flower arranging! LOL! And I often remember asking to go with her if I had come home for a visit from far away. It's peaceful there at the cemetary. Not morbid at all. A respectful silence - like a breath held a moment in anticipation. It was comforting to me - a way of embracing my brother and great aunt (and now mother and close friends), cherishing their memory and their love. It grounds me, helping me to remember my roots, and to see how far up I have grown. Silly as it may sound, I talk to them while I'm there. Yes, I have chosen to continue my mother's tradition. Although I no longer live in town, whenever I am there, I put new flowers there. Even for my good friend, Terry, whose marker doesn't have a vase - I stick them in the ground beside the marker, even though I know the groundskeepers will just pull them up again when they mow. It's not how long they last. It's that I remember, that I still care, my respectful thanks for their presence in my life.
So yes, I talk to them as well. I tell them that I miss them. That I still remember. I tell them a little about my life now. I tell them I won't forget. Hmmm, perhaps the visits are more for me than for them. But no matter, I will continue the tradition. It's something I can still do for my mother and for myself. Hopefully, although I do not have children, I can pass this tradition on to someone else as well. Tradition keeps us all connected.
And so I urge you to take some time during this celebration to remember your own traditions, your own departed loved ones - not with sadness or regret, but with happiness that they are connected to you and still live on in your heart.
If you see me at the cemetary some day when I am in town, feel free to join me. I'll be the one arranging the new flowers and dusting off the edges of the markers... Maybe someday I'll live closer and can change the flowers more often. Mom would like that.
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