GOOD GRIEF!
Do you like to visit cemeteries? In Ecuador (and many other Latin American countries), the Day of the Dead (El Dia de los Difuntos in Ecuador) is celebrated every year.Those who live in the cities such as Quito, Loja, Cuenca, and Ambato, and beyond, come together on this day to enjoy guaguas de pan (bread babies) and colada morada (purple drink). Many go to the cemeteries and spend a lot of the day there. In fact, colada morada is a creation of the indigenous peoples who would use mora, much like a blackberry, found in the Ecuadorian highlands, to create a beverage to take with them to visit their ancestors’ graves.
The visit to the cemetery on this special day is a time to honour those gone before, and it is done in a spirit of celebration rather than a spirit of heaviness and sorrow.
Today (May 14th), would have been our daughter, Sarah’s 43rd birthday! We have been without her for 31 years.When I say, ‘without her’ I mean her physical presence. After Illy and Sarah died and we met people who didn't know us, they would often ask ‘how many children do you have?’ I noticed that many were disconcerted when I told them, ‘We have three daughters. Two are waiting for us in heaven and one, Mirry, is still with us.’ I would still give that response should someone ask me that question today.
I went out to the cemetery this morning. It was early so the only others there were some workers clearing foliage and leaf litter away. The sun was trying to break through a grey-clouded sky and occasionally a sunbeam would hit the water on the little lake not far from where Illy and Sarah were buried. It could have been the flash of a camera, of someone wanting to preserve a special moment for all time. I stood for a minute contemplating the plaque. Over the years the shiny brass has worn off so that it’s hard to read the lettering. I didn’t need to though. I know what it says.
ILEANA MARGARITA MACE
July 3, 1990
SARAH JANE MACE
May 14, 1981
DEARLY LOVED DAUGHTERS OF ROSS AND KAREN
LOVED SISTERS OF MIRIAM
WENT TO BE WITH THE LORD
ON NOVEMBER 20, 1993
I squatted, brush in hand, briskly sweeping away dust and debris. I emptied the brackish water from the vase and replaced the flowers. As I pushed to my feet, I heard it. It was just a whisper. ‘They aren’t here.’
My breath caught, and a hand went to my heart. ‘But they are here,’ I whispered back. I’m sure Illy and Sarah were smiling. And, when I wished Sarah a happy birthday, I could hear her laughing response, ‘Thanks, Mum, but I don’t have birthdays anymore. In heaven, we don’t grow older.’
I feel their love for me every day, and my love for our girls doesn't change. I miss them, and it’s perfectly normal for me to be sad at times, and to wish they were here; to wonder what they would be doing if they were here. So today, and on Mother’s Day, I allow joy and sadness to battle for attention, first one then the other, until at some stage there is no longer a battle. It becomes a fluid shift from one to the other, and it’s okay.
You can probably relate to all this, I’m sure. Do you have someone who was buried in a cemetery? Do you visit regularly? Do you sometimes find that joy and sadness battle for attention? What do you do? How do you navigate those intense moments of grief?
Write to me of your experience of grief, of cemeteries, of joy in the midst of the most devastating moments. I’ll look forward to hearing from you.
Karen