Yesterday was Nov 2nd. All Souls days. After a particularly difficult morning, I had gone for some solace to see my parents and grandparents. Typically this is a day when many people go to the Cemetery. Thankfully, yesterday it wasn’t so. Going there and sitting by their graves gives me a lot of peace. It is a day to remember the dead. I went towards evening and so the candles lit everywhere was just beautiful.
On many such occasions, I have sat quietly and heard many “real” conversation being had. By people who talked to the ones who were not there. Said things that were so real and true and vulnerable. They told how much they loved and missed their dad/mom or who ever was there. They told them they were sorry for some things. Shared pieces of beautiful, sometimes funny memories. Some even sang. They really though they were alone. It was touching how when everything was over, it was these small, seemingly insignificant “not important stuff ” that we most remember.
I remember asking with my grandma, why do we only remember on this day. She told me about my birthdays and the conversation ended. Fair enough. She added often, when you come to see me after I am dead, get a cake and a yellow rose. Keep the rose and eat the cake. She would say. I said fine.I did just that.
As I think about it, death was not such a taboo word in our house. It happened all the time. I saw plants die, birds die, rats die, very early. We laughed about how they now became food. My family laughed a lot generally, over a lot of silly things. But as I grew I learnt, others did not share our sense of humour, especially over something somber as ‘death’. It was not talked about. “Dead people” just suddenly ceased to exist in conversation. I found it very strange. And felt sad for how they must feel about all this
Reverence and humour apparently did not go together.
“Learn How to Die, and You Learn How to Live” – Morrie
I remember, after both my grandparents died. On one All souls day, my parents and us went to their graves. In keeping with the tradition, we packed some food, some of the things they loved to eat, some that we wanted and some for the crows and other birds that came invariably.
We sat, cried, lit candles and incense, talked a lot about our favorite memories, and generally lot of laugher and noise. Minus the venue, it was a picnic.The gardeners would have to shush us. And they would then look around the grave yard. As if to say, keep it down, they are resting. It was funny, keep it down… But we would tone down to respect the living.
I have always wondered, why have we separated the living and the dead in this way. Why this separation between crying and laughing. Why “respect” meant keeping quiet only. They live inside us, as us anyway. All the time. They see and hear us laughing and missing and bitching at other times, so why the pretence. Anyway I was just glad, my family did not subscribe.
When my mom was a bit unwell, long before she passed away, we would laugh, she had a really loud laugh, like me, like her mom. She would say, make sure I am looking nice in the coffin. And then the details like, her nail polish should not be chipped etc, She said she would see so we should not cheat. I believed her. Because of such conversations, matter of fact, funny and fun as it was, it felt like, she was still there, even when I could not see her physically around. Even now.
In any case, energy cannot be created nor destroyed, It just changes form. On her birthday this year, June 2nd when my brother and I went to see her. I was particularly missing her. As I sat I looked at her grave as asked her to come in some “form”. And sure enough in a few seconds a cat just walked in and came and sat near me. Purring. I swear It felt like my mom. She stayed with us, the whole time, for almost an hour. And then I asked her to leave. And she did. It felt like her. And that was all that mattered I guess.
I remember mentioning it to a friend and he got very upset. How can you insult your mom like that. I was surprised by his outburst. But chose to interpret it as his love/respect for my mom. But I wanted to tell him, my mom would be very pleased that I recognized her. She loved cats. It would not be an insult at all. It would be an honour.
But it was not a moment for all that. So I let it be. I wrote about it instead.
We are really funny as people. The inevitable death we keep pretending will not happen. When it does happen we pretending it has not happened.We are forever in denial.
Many years ago, I met Danny, an undertaker in Mahim. I especially went looking for him. His shop always had “witty” signs outside which would always bring a smile to my face, despite the circumstances. I found it deeply human to cry and laugh at the same time.
We often mistake being vulnerable only as crying being sad.Laughing and being happy is just as vulnerable.
Since my dad and mom, had a particularly funny bone, we would literally slow down in front of his shop.
“People are dying to come to us”
“One stop shop”
“We are dead serious about our work”
“I am on graveyard shift”
These are some I remember. Danny also got into trouble because of this. How dare he make fun. You can’t make fun of the dead, it was insensitive.Of course. But then you were not allowed to make fun of the living, it was rude. So, No fun. In short. Sigh !!! No wonder we are such confused, undecided lot.
When I went to meet this chirpy, man, even as I took in all the coffins and crosses and head stone designs etc. It was the juxtaposition that made me feel so much better. I mentioned his interview in the newspaper and some of the church having an objection to his sense of humour. I asked him if it had an impact. In characteristic Danny style in a serious tone, He said, Yes he realized he was digging his own grave. We laughed. And he continued, he would make sure he would get to the bottom of it. More guffaws.
How amazing it would be, if we adopted this attitude I thought. People didn’t avoid looking at this coffin shop but actually slowed down, wasn’t that something. That it was not something to be afraid of but one could laugh. It was allowed. Grief and Joy did not have to be two opposites. In fact my friend Quanita, who does a lot of grief work and also laughs a lot, said, when she holds Grief circles, and she hears someone just break down in grief, she has a small smile on her face, because she knows , now that this happened joy was not too far behind.
Detachment doesn’t mean you don’t let the experience penetrate you. On the contrary, you let it penetrate you fully. That’s how you are able to leave it.
Infact, I suspect, many of us are not able to fully feel joy because we don’t fully feel the grief. And vice versa.
Many years ago, when I was working with some schools in Ladakh, I came across these structures in peoples homes. I learnt they were graves. Just strewn around anywhere, everywhere. I was curious at this practice and so I asked the people. What they told me has till date stayed with me as such a beautiful profound wisdom.
They said two things:
- When people lived here all their life, why should they be sent away to a separate place when dead? They should be able to see how we live on a daily basis. Nice, we can pretend for one day, when we went to the cemetery, but on everyday basis, now that would be real.
- When we see the graves everyday, we are reminded every moment of the ephemeral nature of life. It makes us want to live more fully. Wow, so true.
We forget we are defined by our losses, not confined by them.
I am reminded of one of my Favorite books Tuesdays with Morrie. I read it in my early 20’s. It is a book I go back to time and again. It helps me put things in perspective. It is a true story, about a young man (Mitch Albom) who visits weekly (on Tuesday), to discuss the big questions in life with his old, beloved professor (Morrie Schwartz), who is in the grips of terminal ALS and dying.
The central theme in Tuesdays with Morrie is the way in which accepting one’s own death can help one to understand what really matters in life and to live more meaningfully. I remember the 9 themes he discuss on Tuesdays are death, fear, aging, greed, marriage, family, society, forgiveness, and a meaningful life.
These are things that matter, everything else is facia.
My friend Savyy and I also talk openly about death, and how we might continue to stay in touch later. We have agreed on being birds, as of now.
Why do you want to talk about such things now, another friend will say. When do we talk about it? It wouldn’t be much use to align and discuss after dying right. Duh!!!
As someone who also works with death, I have repeatedly seen people feeling such deep sorrows at the time of death. And of the many things, the one consistent thing people have is “regret”. Regret at not saying things that they wanted to say to the ones who have gone. It’s unexpressed feelings, unsaid words of love, of gratitude, of apology, that makes death so difficult.
“Can I say one last time how much I love him/her” – I have heard this again and again.It’s heart breaking really
Perhaps we need to not wait for regrets. Because we really don’t know when will be “that time”. In our trips of being right, we are left alone. With our regrets that cannot be conveyed. We pay a huge price for our egos.
We are haunted not by what is not there. But what was not there.
Like Morrie says, “Forgive yourself before you die. Then forgive others. Don’t live a life of regret. Don’t linger in the wrongs. Linger in making things right and moving from there. Say sorry even when you don’t want to, the act of saying it will release you. Hanging on to wrongs does nothing for you. Move forward.
The darker the night, the brighter the stars, the deeper the grief, the closer is God!” — Fyodor Dostoevsky
Another friend and colleague Teressa, called me a few years ago, and just talked about her mother. Who was suffering from terminal illness and wanted to die on her birthday, In a certain way. She and her sisters had a difficult time but their love not fear, finally won. That was the first time I heard of Death with Dignity movement. It was moral, legal and beautiful. They spent the last few months doing all the things her mum wanted said thing they wanted to say, hugged, cried fought, made up, cleaned-up. They had a lot of time. And her mum would participate in these conversations, unlike when these “important” things are said after death. When we can only speculate they go through. Unless they come back as cats of course.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful to hear these things when we can respond. Somehow it frees both sides. From attachment and regret. And really helps people move on, more integrated.This is one of the most beautiful Grief rituals according to me. The tears and hugs reach.
There is no grief like the grief that does not speak.” ― Henry W. Longfellow
A few months ago, after I wrote a story about a conversation with my dad, I went to see him. And found to our utter surprise white mushroom like things growing on his grave. We looked at the other graves it was not there. I found out recently, mushroom and fungi help in recycling things. They are natures “bridge”. The moved dead things to life. I believe something changed in our relationship through the story. And finally the white mushroom happened as a sign of moving on. I felt peaceful.
Perhaps this day, the All Souls day is for ALL souls. Since souls don’t die, it must be for all of us as well. We are never the same after someone dies. And we are never really far away either. Maybe, when as we let the light come we also acknowledge the darkness that is right beneath the lamp, and not make it wrong or bad. We are living in uncertain times. Lets us not be tentative about that. Perhaps we need to have people and spaces where “such conversation: is not taboo. We need do our grief work so the container is strong and large. Strong enough to hold grief, large enough to hold Love.
