El Dio de los Muertos

      It's been nearly ten years since I adopted the tradition of El Dia de los Muertos, which translates to Day of the Dead. The Mexican celebration is November 1 (All Souls Day) through November 2. You can educate yourself on the history with the click of a mouse. In our house we have personalized this celebration to reflect our family.

Each year, just before Halloween, we set up an altar in the center of our home.  From year to year the finished product has been slightly different.  After 10 years it has morphed into this beautiful expression of recognizing our loved ones. We do our best to keep a candle burning on the altar during the day. It is one of the things I do before the holiday hassle begins. It allows us to take time to honor those friends and family who have left this world. Upon the altar are things and photos of the ones who came before us and those who have left this world. The "things" I've collected through the years include my Grandmothers Mass card along with one of her rosary's. There are a pair of shoes which belonged to my brother Gary who was tragically taken from us in 1966. My mother cherished these worn shoes belonging to her oldest child, which still had dirt on them from her family's homestead in Texas where he was born. There is one of my father's many name badges from the annual Sonoma County Trail Blazers ride.

My kids gave me a hard time when the first altar appeared. Dave looked at me with a tilted head but never questioned our new family tradition. I've collected many things over the years. This year at our Family Reunion I acquired a small wall altar which has a cast replica of the Holy Family (under glass) in "bright" colors despite its age. My Prima Clairette believes it belonged to our Great Grandmother.  If you do the math, this collectible has to be over 100 years old. In all honesty, when Dave saw this piece of vintage religious "art" he got real nervous. When it came home with us, I heard his "that piece of s___? Isn't coming into our house!" This week, when I brought it in from the garage his "Wait a minute...." was met with the assurance that this piece of my family's history would only be appearing at Casa Heizer through Thanksgiving.

Usually our altar is up just before Halloween (All Hallows Eve, which precedes All Soul's Day, a holy day of obligation for Roman Catholics).  As I am many times, this year, I'm running behind schedule.  I only put the finishing touches on this year's shrine today. Last year, I was running behind (as usual) and Maddie noticed its absence questioned me.  After a brief exchange she, without a word, retrieved the box which holds the nucleus of our family altar.  These treasures which have been acquired over numerous years and have snowballed to include:   Two small urns, about the size of a chess piece, which contain a small amount ashes belonging to  each of my parents. The matching personal urns are covered with mother of pearl and have brass accents. There is a small music box which plays "The Way We Were" and inside the red velvet is a lock of my mother-in-law's hair. Some might think these things are odd, even morbid, but I find them comforting reminders of the "ones who came before".

While it is present, the little altar receives visits from family members and guests.  I find my kids looking at the book which holds names and mass cards of many family and friends.  If the flame is out, someone will light a candle and hopefully will take time to remember.  I believe that one cannot grow to full potential without knowing from where they came.  I credit the success of my children to two things:  Eating at the family table and knowing from where they came. 

This tradition has allowed me to display all the "things" which I hold on to merely because they were part of someone I loved. My brother's shoes are a reminder to my children of their Uncle who died long before they were born. He would have made a terrific uncle as he was the BEST big brother. Today, I saw Katie showing Brandon each cherished piece laying before them. She spoke to him in a soft voice as they admired each item. That mental picture was a Kodak moment which will pass before me before I leave this world.

I hope at least one of my kids adopts this tradition in their home. If they don't, it's not because they don't care. I know they do. I see each one of them at some point having a quiet moment remembering the patches from the quilt which we call our family.