Some Musings on Grief and Remembrance
My son and I have spent the last 48 hours doing a delicate dance between cultural appreciation and appropriation. At his request, and despite the fact that we have no Mexican roots, we decided to make a version of an ofrenda, or memory altar, for the Day of the Dead. He was utterly fascinated with the tradition and quite insistent that we put one up.
There has, unfortunately, been a fair amount of talk about death in our house lately (we’re in the palliative stages of care with our oldest dog’s lymphoma) so I figured it might be a good way for him to process some of what he was feeling. When he asked to add pictures of pets that we had lost, it confirmed for me that this was connected to his grieving process. So we gathered flowers from the garden, found photos of our loved ones, and added objects that represented things they had loved in life. We talked about making the traditional pan de muerto, but ultimately decided that with such a strong Scotch/Irish and British presentation, shortbread would be more appropriate.
He wanted to hear the stories behind each picture over and over again, and he wanted to tell everyone in our circle about it. The whole experience made me realize how much these traditions are lacking in mainstream American culture.
We like to keep death in as neat a package as possible, well away from the day to day. It’s painful, uncomfortable, inconvenient, and an unsettling reminder of our own mortality, so we stuff it down, relegate it to certain locations, certain days, and certain presentations. We have acceptable phrases to say in response to a loss, set times for grieving, and then we are expected to tuck it away and move on. I think that comes with a pretty steep cost. Trapped grief is one of the most toxic emotions we can experience, but beyond all that, it costs us remembrance. Because we don’t take the time to properly grieve and heal, revisiting the memory of a loved one stays painful. So we don’t do it all that much.
I think this whole process is particularly poignant right now as we’re fast approaching the anniversary of my aunt’s death. Placing her photo on the alter really brought home the fact that we’re still waiting to hold a celebration of her life. We’re hoping that next summer will present us the opportunity to gather more of our large clan together to give her a proper send off. She was a wonderful and enigmatic woman, and the first of her generation to leave us. It feels so important to get it right, to give her what she deserves, and what we all need — though I’m really not sure I know what that is.
I do know that grief interrupted can really mess with you. I didn’t attend my grandmother’s funeral. She died toward the end of my first semester of teaching. I had missed several days of school due to illness and to be in a dear friend’s wedding, so it was heavily suggested to me that it would not be in my best interest to miss any more work. It ate me up not to go, but I didn’t want to lose my job so I stuffed it all down, told myself I was never very good at funerals anyway. It wasn’t until later that I was informed I was legally entitled to bereavement time.
The first time I ever lost someone was when my great-grandfather died. I was 11, but was deemed too young to attend the funeral because it was an open casket. This weekend, I found an amazing picture of him that I didn’t even realize I had. He was probably in his early 20s in the photo, with his wife, Annie, both dressed in their finest clothes. It could be a wedding picture, but I’m not sure. Looking at it, I realized how little I know about him despite the fact that he was a pretty significant figure in my childhood. I know he was born in Gramby, Québec, he was one of the youngest in a big family, and despite the fact that he moved to Maine when he was 8, he spoke very little English even at his death at 94 years old. My sister and I were the only great-grandchildren that had any French and he loved talking to us because of that, but I don’t recall him sharing many stories of his childhood. The genealogist in me weeps at the thought of all that lost history, but I’m curious to see how much I can recover with a little digging. I’m also deeply grateful that my son’s passion project brought the photo, and so much of these musings, to light.
It remains to be seen whether this will become a tradition we expand upon next year or whether this was just a wonderful one time experience. It’s sure to shape conversations going forward, and has hopefully shown him — shown us all, really — that it’s acceptable and important to grieve, and even more important to take the time to remember and rejoice in the lives that have touched ours.
Well done Mandi! 😘