On November 2nd, I will be attending the All Soul’s Procession for the fifth year in a row. Inspired by the Mexican holiday Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead), the Tucson procession has existed since 1990 when local artist Susan Johnson grieved the passing of her father with a ritualistic performance piece-celebratory and creative. The Procession as I know it is Tucson’s biggest holiday, a huge street party with thousands of angelic and ghoulish beings descending the streets to mourn and celebrate the life and death of their loved ones. The parade culminates with ritual burning of slips of papers filled with prayers, dreams, hopes and wishes which are carried through the streets in a large urn. Then the celebration begins with performance art by fire dancers and fire spinners and a large, crazy afterparty.
One year at All Soul’s I put on too much glitter and $10 fairy wings. Last year I carried a picture of my grandfather, may he rest in piece. I am always amazed by the creativity in various forms: drumming, dancing, beautiful masks and costumes, stilt walkers spinning fire, wagons, dancing skeletons, giant puppets, dancers suspended from cranes. I remember crying one year marching under the 4th Avenue bridge while women holding torches towered above us, lighting up a huge sign which read LOVE > FEAR.
It is said that American culture doesn’t really know how to approach death. Instead of creating ofrendas, or altars, to those who have passed, we try not to talk about it too much. It is almost anethema, something to be tiptoed around. Clarissa Pinkola Estes is one of many authors and storytellers who has written about the life/death/life nature…about how in order for new things to be born some things must die. Nevertheless, that doesn’t make things easier.
This article is a tribute to some of those people close to me who have died. Most recently, both of my grandfathers have passed away. One was a hardworking optometrist who was fond of pumpernickel bagels and playing bridge. I remember his warm heart. I remember him helping my grandmother cook dinner, cutting up little cucumbers. I remember his athleticism and strength of character and spirit–not to mention his physical strength. He swam in the sea until the day he died. My mom’s father also died recently. I remember his fondness for education, the amount of time he spent studying, opening schools, working in administration. As a newfound educator just this year, I wonder what words of wisdom he would’ve had for me. I remember him reading the newspaper, playing chess, watching the news. I remember reading about his life in his book, realizing how many sacrifices he made as a Jew. He had to leave many countries in which he was persecuted just to get an education–when so many in this country take their educational opportunities for granted.
And I’ve been meaning to write an article about Chris for years now. I met him at a pub in Oxford when I was buying Rich a beer. I was my normal flighty self, requesting an incredibly strong brand of beer I’d discovered in Scotland and, when it wasn’t available, ordering tea instead. I told Chris he had nice hair and he remembered me when I ran into him at a protest later that week. I have him my number and eventually he called. We dated for six months and I found him idealistic, principled, reflective, thoughtful and kind beyond belief. I am grateful for the time we got to spend together, having long political conversations over beer. He explained more about British culture, mannerisms and subtle language differences for me than I could ever learn in a guidebook and with infinite patience few could muster. He even showed me all the Beatles references when I went to visit him in Liverpool-even though he hated the Beatles.
I miss my grandfathers. R.I.P. Sabba Moshe. R.I.P. Sabba David. But they died after long, full lives, having lived through the travesties of war and the blessings of new birth. When Chris died before his time, it left a hole in my heart. I miss him more than I can put in words.
So here’s to All Soul’s–to celebrating the deaths of those close to us and the lives that they lived, all the people they touched. I celebrate and honor their lives and the continuation of their life, for I know death is not the end but merely a beginning.
Tucsonans, I’ll see you at the Procession while I do my best… to never, ever forget.
