a remembering table for mother - day of the dead

El dia de los muertos, November 2nd. It's a shame North America does not have such a tradition as Day of the Dead as they do in South America. There are many, many variations on this holiday, but basically it is a time to remember and tell stories about relatives and loved ones who have died--the veil between the living and the dead is supposed to be particularly thin on this day. Usually there is an "altar" that the family decorates with pictures, food, and things that recall the life of an ancestor. Just planning and decorating the altar is an opportunity to recall the life and personality of the loved one. In Mexico there are big family gatherings where family members tell stories about the loved one, and in the evening the family goes to the grave site to have a picnic. Sometimes they keep vigil all night. What a wonderful idea! So much more soul in that celebration than in our somewhat anemic Memorial Day, which evolves each year closer and closer to Vacation Day. Perhaps part of the reason that such a great tradition has not seeped much across the border is that the idea of an altar frightens us. Altars are too closely tied to religion and sacrifice and worship. We don't want to worship our ancestors. That's why I think we should call it a Remembering Table instead of an altar.

So this year I made a remembering table in honor of my mother. I put a few fall leaves on the table, some rocks, a drawing pencil and an apple. I could have put a dozen other items, but I thought I would start small.

With all the beautiful fall leaves, I had been thinking of my mother anyway. Many times we had walked together in my neighborhood in the fall; we could never get very far without stopping to pick up another exquisite fall leaf to take home. Today I headed out on a walk/run and immediately found a very lovely stem of oak leaves. I picked it up and carried it as I ran, feeling a bit like an Olympic runner carrying a torch of bright red leaves. But as I continued on picking up more leaves, the Olympic feeling disappeared--hmm, could be another post? But this was a day for remembering mother, not for imagining grandeur. I came in and put the leaves on my remembering table with the other things. I thought about all the glowing comments made by her art students that I and my siblings had found a few weeks ago written in one of her old school yearbooks. I thought about my mother as a small child, and as a young bride, a young mother, a teacher, a friend, a grandmother and great grandmother.