Halloween: remembering the dead
oct 26, 1998
last night, we carved pumpkins by the light of our campfire.
we talked about the light that’s in our lives today because of many people who have gone before and contributed to our lives.
one lady said “it’s a shame we hardly ever remember the dead in our families. no wonder we are afraid to die.” someone else said
” i am overcome with deep gratitude each year when we do this
little Halloween practice and recall how many have been so dear to us.”
people were busy carving pumpkins to resemble the ones they had chosen to tell about.
quilts were flapping behind, hung on lines from the earlier show of our autumn craft work. these fabric coverlets would be given as holiday gifts. some would become table covers or wall hangings. they blew calmly and they moved as people talked and carved out features on big and little pumpkins. flashlights glowed ribbons of yellow in the black night. spoonfuls of seeds were shoveled into buckets, knives were swapped, buckets bumped around the circle collecting pumpkin insides.
a boy talked about a man. a man talked about his grandmother. a grandmother recalled her father. a father said stories of his uncle who taught him to make sausages, store nails, yell at the top of his lungs and go fishing on a glass smooth lake in spring.
an aunt told tales of grandmother who believed in her talents when no one else did. a brother let us in on how grandmother let them sneak into her apartment at night to watch movies and eat popcorn when the rest of the family was asleep
it was good to hear stories of dearly loved and departed relations,
it was sad to hear where only some small things were known before it was already too late. these were remembrances from adults who wished they knew more about elders before they died.
going around the circle we knew more about each other.
as night grew darker, stories got more intimate, pumpkin faces with candle light glowing from inside formed another circle outside the fire circle of fire…
and, the disembodied were now given heads, to smile out from.
they watched, as we watched them frame the fire in such beauty for a cool October night. now and again, at the house, the cat or a careless raccoon would run-bye the garage door. the magic eye would turn on spotlights casting glow, up to us. minutes later flicking-off they would leave us back to campfire light… speakers changed, lights changed, quilts moving fast or slow would also change, our feelings changed too with each story told.
the next morning three women said they had seen shadowy figures of teachers, nuns, and grandparents behind the quilts listening to stories being told about them….
Halloween has the possibility of being a warm time… death doesn’t seem such a mean monitor when we remember the dead by our campfire.
