In October of 1994 I was at home in South Bend visiting my parents. I can’t really remember for what occasion I was there, but I was flying solo away from spouse and children. My mother was supposed to go out on this particular Saturday evening with the mother of my sister in law. They were going to see a play at an old theater downtown. She asked me if I would drop them off at the play and pick them up later so that she wouldn’t have to worry about parking. Always glad to do things for my mother, I agreed. When we showed up at Annie’s house to pick her up she came to the door dressed in her bathrobe and hair up in rollers.
“Oh Dorothy,” she said, somewhat aghast, “I didn’t realize that was tonight. I thought it was tomorrow.” “It’s no problem, Annie,” Mother replied. “We’ll catch another one together. I’ll go on tonight.” As we turned from the door and headed back to the car, my mother looked at me and said “Well you might as well go with me then.” I looked down at myself taking in somewhat raggedy attire: an old pair of jeans, hiking boots, and a beat up fleece-lined, blue jean jacket. I was not dressed to go to the theater. “Oh come on, it’ll be fun.” She nudged me and we were off. The play was supposed to be a comedy, and while I found it mildly amusing, it wasn’t very good. But what I did enjoy thoroughly was watching my mother watching the play. I distinctly remember sitting there looking at her and thinking, It is good for me to be here. I am glad that I came.Two months later my mother was diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer and five months after that she was dead. For years I kept the ticket stub to the play in my wallet; I carried it with me everywhere, periodically pulling it out and looking at it. Somehow as I watched my mother watch the play a part of me knew it was a special moment, one of those that you photograph in your mind as being really important even though you don’t know why. I am grateful for that memory, now some 19 years later. It is still very real to me. This blog tonight is in honor of the Dia de los Muertos, the Day of the Dead. And tonight I honor my parents, and all those who have gone before us.
I don’t pretend to know much about all of the various traditions associated with October 31st and November 1st. I can remember as a child when I went to Catholic school dressing up as a saint for Halloween and then celebrating All Saints Day and All Souls Day around about November 1st and 2nd. But what I do want to think about is those whom I have lost and who I miss, who have gone before me. Always my parents are at the top of that list, but this year I want to also add my Aunt Jeanne, one of my mother’s sister whom I lost this past July. Aunt Jeanne and I were close in many ways, from the time I was a very young child. I l feel her loss all the more keenly this year when I’ve spent so much time trying to reconstruct my family history; with her death, I lost the last living link that I have to information about my mother about her grandmother and her parents. There is no one alive now whom I know that can answer any of the many questions I have about her side of the family.
I am grateful for my ancestors and the opportunity to celebrate their lives. I know that in some traditions on Dia de los Muertos you are supposed to build an altar and offer on it the favorite foods and drink of the persons who have died. Three years ago after my father’s death I didn’t prepare his favorite food, I simply put a framed photo of him up on the mantle, lit a candle next to it, and poured and set a glass of whisky next to it. Dad drank scotch, but it was the best I could do. This year I will not be building any altars for Aunt Jeanne or for Dad and Mom, but I will be holding them in my heart with love and gratitude for who they each were in my life and all they did to make the world a better place. And I am grateful for the memory that came dashing back today as I was driving to work, remembering the unexpected blessing of the trip to the theater with my mother. There are many such memories in my lifetime with her and with Dad, but this is the one that is sticking with me this evening, and for each precious memory of all those whom I have loved and no longer walk the world in the flesh, I am extremely grateful.
