Tomorrow is November 2nd, the Day of the Dead.
Today is the day that flower vendors set up shop at the park in front of the church.
I have no ancestors buried here.
I have no family graves or tombstones or mausoleums to visit, to clean, to adorn with flowers.
I have not seen my grandmother’s or my mother’s grave, nestled side by side as they are, in Ponce, Puerto Rico, since we buried my mother there eleven years ago. We assume the cemetery attendants will take care of their gravesite.
Honestly, I have not thought about the care of their graves until now. And that single fact alone makes me feel like a negligent daughter. How caught up I’ve been in my own singular life, that I’ve forgotten the graves of my dead!
I have an app on my phone called We Croak. Five times a day it sends me a notification reminding me that I’m going to die and that I can click through to a quote.
I got the app with the presumption that the constant reminder of my (our) impending, eventual death would help me lead a more conscious life. The jury is still out on that one! But the quote I just got seems apropos and reads like this:
“Our avoidance instinct is also due to the fact that our culture has decided that suffering has no value.” – Frank Ostaseski
Fortunately for Nicaraguans, their culture has decided, it appears, that suffering and death do have value.
Accordingly, today the flower vendors set up shop. In my mind’s eye I chose these to adorn the resting places of my beloveds. And with my tears I wash their graves.
