Yes, technically yesterday was Halloween, but I grew up in a household that didn't really celebrate Halloween. Not really. There was a Harvest Festival at church and the Great Pumpkin would leave me a treat, yeah sorry, Linus, he came to my house every year. But I didn't trick or treat until I took my nephew when he was like 3.
But today? Today is Día de Muertos and it's all about remembering those we've lost so there was no way to avoid this one. I don't "celebrate" it usually either. I'm from New Mexico, and there is a Marigold parade every year and people paint their faces and there are sugar skulls and butterflies and...well..okay, so yeah, it's always around. But honestly Sugar Skulls and Marigolds are around all year long. My home town is big on that all of the time.
And I don't celebrate just means I don't go to a parade. I don't go to the cemetery. I don't build an ofrenda. But I do take a moment to remember. Especially since both of our fathers passed. I take time and remember them. Think about them.
Saturday was the service. That was for Carol and for John. Mom hadn't wanted one at the end. She was pretty sure nobody would come. Her peer group had all passed on or were in homes or just not healthy enough to make it. She just didn't want a big deal made for nobody. Carol and John vetoed that. Funerals are not for the dead, they are for the living. A way of getting closure. Of saying goodbye. Or marking an end. I don't agree that they are needed. You all know that. But it was important to at least two family members and so Mom agreed that fine, we could have one.
That's the odd thing about deciding to die. You are part of the planning of the funeral. At least just a little. She didn't really do much else other than agree that it could be done. The rest was left to us. And by us I mean Susan and Carol and Jeff. Denny too ended up having some say over what was done. The rest of us just took our places and did our parts. Brian was called upon to lead the music. He had to sing a solo at Dad's funeral so this, I think, was easier for him. Carol wanted people to talk so she did, I did and Ann did. I already talked about that part.
Then there was a fellowship portion. There were photo albums for people to look at. My mother was so gorgeous and my dad was incredibly handsome. No wonder they ended up together. The rest of Iowa must have looked so plain by comparison. And then there were people who wanted to talk to all of us, tell us how they remembered Mom and Dad as well. They were a matched pair. Always.
After the service we went back to her house and looked through her jewelry. Susan and David had sorted it all out, I posted a picture of part of the collection on Facebook. There was a lot. A lot. So much. I would wander in and look at it, pick things up, talk about memories of her wearing certain pieces. Then I would wander back out. There was so much stuff it made me tense.
And all I wanted of hers was an owl.
She collected owls, among so many other things. But owls were her thing. Her spirit animal. I had asked her last year which she identified with most, the owls or the hummingbirds (also a lot of those collected over the years) and she said OWL. Then said, hummingbirds are pretty but I am the owl. So all I wanted was one of her owls. One that meant something to her, one that seemed perfect to me to represent her. I couldn't choose. She had a lot of them but none that were smallish (I wanted it to match Dad's ring in size), none that seemed more loved than the others. None that really worked. I kept picking one up and putting it back down and I thought about it, because it couldn't possibly be the one, and finally chose a salt and pepper shaker set that were cute.
Then we collected our ashes and left.
Yes, collected our ashes.
Each of us took a package of Mom and Dad's ashes to spread. As we put first Dad and then Mom into my bag I said, "They aren't the same color." I sort of meant it to be my inside my head voice, but it didn't work out that way. It was interesting to me. They were both cremated at the same facility, cremation is done the same way, but they weren't the same. And to really make it odd to me Mom was darker than Dad. Everyone assumed my dad was native. That's how much darker he was than my mother. Especially during the summer. He was golden brown, she was lily white. But now? Mom was a darker gray, and more fine. Dad was a lighter gray and kind of rough and gritty. I held the bag and looked at the layers. Mom and Dad together again. The same, yet different.
The next morning the boys and I headed up to the east side of the mountain. This is where she wanted to have them spread. Years ago she had talked about being spread in the ocean so she could surf without worrying about getting her face wet so I had thought about taking some to Hawaii with us. But once Dad died she had settled on the east side of the mountain. She even had dreams/visions of Dad waiting for her there with their three children who passed before them. So east side of the mountain it was.
I had picked a trail earlier in the week. I needed one that wasn't going to be too busy, wasn't going to be too steep (we aren't acclimated to hiking in New Mexico) and was on the east side. I didn't want to go all the way to the peak, though I thought about it. I didn't want to go to Doc Long's though I thought about that too. We spent a lot of summer afternoons picnicking at Doc Long's. But I thought it might be too crowded. I also had an image in my mind of where I wanted to go. Where I would leave them, but I knew that wasn't likely to happen. I haven't been hiking on the mountain in 30+ years, so there was no way any place in my head was even still there.
So we got to the trailhead I had picked out and started walking. And...there it was. The spot in my head. I got goosebumps. And not just from the wind and the cold. But it was what I had seen. Two trees growing from the same spot. Joined at the root, but seperate trees.
I thought I got a better shot of this, but there must have been something in my eye.
The view that Mom and Dad would have had sitting under that tree together.
I spread their ashes around the base of the two trees. And then in a heart. And then in a little more design. And then I realized that what seemed like a small amount of ashes in the bag was a significant amount of ashes on the ground. I laughed. Which seems fitting. I also cried. Which also seemed right. Then I spread some pine needles over their ashes to keep them from blowing away and to keep the hikers that would follow us from wondering why there was a lot of light gray ash in the dirt.
Then we headed up the mountain to take in the rest of the views and to give me a moment to collect myself again. My parents lived on the west side of the mountain but she always wanted to be spread on the east. I had to wonder about that. I hadn't before. When I could have asked. Which is what happens so often. We just know things but we don't think to ask why. But as I stood and looked at the view from the east side of the Sandias, the view that doesn't seem to stop I think I understood why.
They are limitless now.
Then I went back to my family's house and picked up the owl I had picked up and put down 50 times the day before thinking it wasn't the one. It couldn't be the one. It was just a little wooden thing she had obviously pulled off of a flower arrangement. There is still moss on the back of it, for goodness sake. But it is colorful. It's covered in glitter. And she had liked it enough to pull it off of a flower arrangement for goodness sake. My sister said, "That one? Really?" and I could only shake my head in disbelief as well. "Yeah, this one. This is the one."
So today is the day. We think about those we have lost. We remember them in our hearts. I think of Jack and his loping walk that somehow Christopher inherited. And I think of my parents. Together again. The way they would want to be. Sharing a view after sharing a life. And today I tried my hand at something I probably won't ever do again, but it seemed appropriate this year.
Happy Día de Muertos to us all. May your memories be sweet. May your love be strong. And may you always keep them in your hearts.
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