Facing Our Fears - Ghouls, Goblins, and the Grim Reaper

 If you're lucky, during the month of October, hayrides, apple picking, or pumpkin carving may help you balance the flow of horror movies and zombie costumes. Halloween brings scary images and lots of twisted notions of death.  Many of the scary creatures that fill our terror reels are those who have refused to die quietly, think Dracula, Frankenstein, zombies, and ghosts. There is one custom that we have in our family that comes on the heels of Halloween that helps put the ghouls and goblins into perspective for me - All Souls Day.  The day after the ghosts and brides of Frankenstein are sufficiently sedated in their sugar crashes, we reflect on the afterlife in a much more happy, appreciative, and tender way and in a way that does not involve any fake blood or fangs.  We incorporate the Day of the Dead rituals, creating a time for personal remembering of our loved ones who have died.  A photo, a representative token, and a candle for each person is laid out on our dinner table. Some flowers from the garden for my mom, a Lutheran hymnal for my husband's mom, a deck of pinochle cards for my grandfather - the backdrop for our stories. 

Day of the Dead Altar (Photo credit: JenniferAnn.org)

Neither of our boys ever met our moms but on All Souls Day they'll hear how mine could find a song for any conversation.  We'll eat waffles, a frequent Sunday dinner option that my husband's mom was fond of making. Over time,we've added others to our memory meal and the boys now take more of a part in the storytelling.  They'll remind each other of the great grandmothers that they visited in the nursing homes, fighting over who could push the wheelchair. We'll hear again about cooking meals for all the farm hands and my godmother who wanted to take us to the new Mexican restaurant that she'd heard all about and then drove us into the Taco Bell parking lot.  There will be laughter and sadness and comfort.  Solace, reassurance, peace.  These are the gifts that come to me on All Souls Day.

It's a mistake to let ourselves and certainly our kids believe that death is the Halloween version of the black cloaked Grim Reaper.  It's a mistake to hide from the real feelings of loss and grief and pretend that we can only confront them with a literal mask. Facing our fears about death means that we can do more than mock it one day a year. We can remember and embrace. I encourage everyone to make up your own altar or create a way to honor your loved ones.  Here's a prayer that we share together at the very start of our All Souls Day ritual:

At the rising of the sun and at its going down We remember them.
At the blowing of the wind and the chill of winter We remember them.
At the opening of the buds and in the rebirth of spring We remember them.
At the blueness of the skies and in the warmth of summer We remember them.
At the rustling of the leaves and in the beauty of autumn We remember them.
At the beginning of the year and when it ends We remember them.
As long as we live, they too will live; for they are now a part of us, as we remember them.
When we are weary and in need of strength
We remember them.
When we are lost and sick at heart We remember them.
When we have joy we crave to share We remember them.
When we have decisions that are difficult to make We remember them.
When we have achievements that are based on theirs We remember them.
As long as we live, they too will live; for they are now a part of us, as we remember them. 

- Jewish prayer of remembrance

Mom memories

I'm four, sitting in my mom's lap, on our way home from Christmas Eve dinner and midnight mass with family.  It's cold outside and I'm very tired.  I lay against the faux fur collar of my mom's coat and fall asleep.

Playing outside on my bike with the training wheels.  I pull up to the side of our trailer home, riding on the sidewalk to our steps.  The bully of the complex pushes me off my bike and into the row of rose bushes lining our home.  I lay on my bed while my mom picks out all of the thorns from my back and legs. 

It's May and we're walking up to Johnson's U Pick farm.  We walk on to a dusty old school bus, buckets in hand and take the bumpiest ride through unpaved, gravel roads to our strawberry patch.  On hands and knees we find the little red treasures hiding in the straw covered rows.  Dreaming of the shortcake and jam that will come makes the boredom and sun bearable.

"God doesn't make junk."

In my bedroom, at 12 or 13, hearing the knock at the door.  She sits on the edge of the bed and says goodnight.  Asks about my day.  Five or ten minutes of time, with just her.  Saying next to nothing.  Waiting every night for that knock.

Shipped care packages -  boxes of my favorite store bought cookie, cashews, a five dollar bill, and a note from her during finals week.

Singing.  A snippet of a hymn, a chorus from a musical.  Every topic seems to have a piece of music that she recalls and inserts in the conversation. 

Little flashes of her.  Tiny bits.  Elusive memories.  A small collection of moments.  And yet the power!  The influence, the love, the confidence, the foundation that she set in place for me.  It's impossible to document how a person can speak to your soul, long after they're gone or how being seen so deeply and clearly can change you.  Trying to let the gratitude overtake the sadness.

Protecting Our Kids or Ourselves?

A very dear uncle died this weekend and family members are gathering to be together for his service.  It is a sad time and a confusing time.  I remember when my children were very young, several aunts and uncles as well as my grandfather and grandmother died.  Each time we would have numerous people tell us that the boys didn't need to be at the funeral home or burial.  A few people actually gave us a judgmental  once over, saying that it wasn't really a place for kids.  At the time, I just knew in my heart that I wanted them to be a part of all the different aspects of family life and of love.  I also knew that they would largely be witnessing grief and pain, not feeling it deeply in a personal way.  They didn't have super close ties to the people who had died, except through me or my husband.  They were there for two reasons: 1. They were part of the family and, 2. In a semi-calculated way, I  knew that I wanted them to be able to have these experiences with people they weren't so close to.

I know that some folks think that we should try to protect our kids from the cruelty and harshness of the world, that we should let them be kids and shelter their childhood  for as long as possible.  In some ways I agree.  I think we should keep violent movies and games as far away, for as long possible.   We should protect our children from abstract pain and suffering, but not from the real life grief that comes when we lose our loved ones.  

When my grandmother was very close to the end of her life, we traveled to visit her as a family.  She was in a nursing home for the first time in her life and it was hard for me to see her there.  I wasn't sure what to say to her or how much she was understanding or remembering.  We walked around the halls with her and took her for a stroll outside on the grounds.  I was flashing on past visits with my grandmother and all the corny jokes and puns she would use, all the little craft projects that she had given me.  I was filled with sadness and regret that I hadn't seen her more over the years.  My two young boys were more quiet in the nursing home than at our own house but they were not nervous around her.  The problem came when they both wanted to be the one in charge of steering her wheelchair.  It turned out that it wasn't them that needed protection but my sweet grandmother.  She had a 7 and 9 year old ready to play tug-o-war with her. 

We don't need to hide our feelings for fear of scaring our kids. The intuitive little buggers will figure it out anyway.   In some of these painful moments it can be hard to be so vulnerable in the presence of our children but how else is it that they will they learn empathy?  We might be scaring them more by pretending that everything is "fine".