Day of the Dead

Day of the Dead

Today is Day of the Dead here in Mexico; it’s a very special holiday which is celebrated in different ways in every community and every family. Each one of us also experiences this day in a unique way. What I find beautiful about this festivity, is that it allows me to remember my loved ones who have passed away with love and gratitude, and with the understanding that distance and mostly death bring.

Today I am thinking about my dad especially. It’s been five years already since he died. I would’ve never imagined it but his death has brought me relief. Oddly enough, his total absence in my life is a lighter burden to bear than his relative absence was when he was still alive. What used to hurt so badly and make me angry, I can now understand as the inevitable result of the many limitations of a man who was very intelligent and sensitive but for whom life was always too much to deal with.

Death puts everything into perspective. Sometimes I think one of the reasons we spend so much time and energy imagining and planning a perfect future, when everything, including ourselves, will be better, is that the miracle of the present is just too overwhelming to face.

When we are confronted with the reality that just as some of our loved ones and so many other people are no longer here, neither will we one day, we realize that OUR TIME IS NOW; no matter what it looks like, despite the problems, the imperfections of our context, our own limitations and shortcomings, everything that hurts and/or baffles us…Despite all of that, our life is now. It will most likely never be perfect, or at least, it will never be for long stretches of time. And nor will it ever compare to the bottomless pit that our expectations and desires can be.

But the truth is that life’s richness does not lie in how long it lasts or in how close it comes to how we think it should be.

In my opinion, life’s richness can be felt in the wonder of realizing we are alive, for a brief instant, in the middle of pain, joy and mystery. It can also be experienced in the love we have for one another, despite distance, absence, our many shortcomings, the wounds we inflict on one another and despite death. Finally, it can be felt in the eternal ocean of peace and joy that underlies every passing aspect of our lives.

I hope that today, thinking of our loved ones that have gone will bring us more comfort and gratitude than sadness and regret.

A little over a year ago, I took this course in Literary Creation and the first assignment we had was: “Imagine someone who is dead comes back”. The following text is what I imagined. The reason I am sharing it is that one of the elements of The Day of the Dead that offer more comfort is the idea that on this very special day, the dead can come back to visit with friends and family.

How do you get through the days when memories of your loved ones who have passed on are stronger? ¿What is challenging for you? What gives you comfort and the possibility of seeing things from new points of view?

Since you died, whenever I drive by the corner of Salamanca and Durango, I invariably look at the Vip’s, which I suppose has been there for many years. And every time I do, I realize my memories are still there. I wonder how many times we must’ve met at this café...

But today, I look at the windows and there you are, sitting in a booth, engrossed in reading the newspaper. It is you! There’s no smoke around you as there always used to be. Is it possible that you really quit smoking before the end, or is it simply that nowadays, all public places are smoke free? I wonder if some of the waitresses that you used to  know  still work here. You were such a frequent client, sometimes they wouldn’t even charge you for the coffee. I bet they must’ve been happy to see you again.

Since you left, I’ve sometimes caught myself wanting to see your green eyes again; they sometimes had this joyful, mischievous look, but they were mostly two melancholy lakes; your beautiful hands, your mocking laughter... I’ve also longed simply to see you walking down the street, deep in thought.   I am curious to know what you’d have to say about what’s been going on in these last five years, to hear your views, which always seemed so different from everybody else’s. I’ve missed your long monologues on classical music, your favorite philosophers, or the Canaletto paintings you once copied and sold, your antiques collection, your faith, pure and obstinate as it was. 

These were the things that brightened your life, the things you delved into, in order to avoid talking about yourself, or me, to move past a broken heart, or should I say two?

To me, you were the landslide at the start of the road that changed everything. Your absence was always so dense, so all-encompassing. However, to my own astonishment, out of a bond, which could seem barren to the obtuse stranger’s eyes; out of the dark threads of sorrow, longing and disappointment, a subtle veil was woven, a veil that now covers almost everything in an iridescent, magical shimmer. I carry the world in me, as well as the organic certainty that everything is worth the trouble and that, no matter what happens, the game is already won. Now, what better present could a father have given his daughter?

While I’m still lost in all the memories that seeing you brings up, there’s suddenly this urgent question in my mind: “Are you back for good, or is this a brief visit, a vacation of sorts? To be honest, it would complicate things for me if you chose to stay longer than a few days. Isn’t it ironic; for so long I either mourned the emptiness you left behind, or didn’t quite know how to manage a presence that was often hurtful, so clumsy and self-centered it was, that I never felt as serene as I have, since you  left, finally and  totally.

Should I go in, or should I tell myself I simply saw you in someone else, as has happened before, and just be on my way?

Your shy smile is well worth the knot in my throat. I’ll deal with all the feelings later. I take a deep breath, walk to the café and push the door.

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Or write to me at: theiridescentapple@yahoo.com

Credits/pics:

Three calacas: Valeria Almaraz at Unsplash

Clay calavera: Iván Díaz at Unsplash