Los Dias de los Muertos

In some way, the past three weeks I have been celebrating the dead.

It started with a way to find out more about my grandmother, but it turned out to be about so many more people -- those I knew, my grandmother, my great-uncle, my grandfather, his siblings; and those I never knew but knew existed once -- my grandmother's siblings and parents and cousins and aunts and uncles; and those who I may not have even know existed, really -- like Teresita Urrea and all the Revolucionarios and the Adelitas -- and all the students at the Santa Fe Indian School and St. Cate's over all those years ... and when I visited the Taos Pueblo, I was reminded of all those indigenous folks who did not survive the encounter -- and when I visited the Petrified Forest and saw the Puerco Pueblo, I remembered all those people who lived out there in that beautiful place so very long ago.

Today, I thought a lot about all those who gave their lives that we might vote -- and tears welled in my eyes when my fellow GOTV volunteers cheered the organizer reminding us that but for those folks in the 50's and the 60's and the 70's.

I felt their souls and hearts and eyes on me throughout the journey -- like a warm blanket or cozy socks. They gently reminded me when I was at the limit of my frustration (and taking it out on my parents) that compassion is like LENT -- if you fall off the wagon, you just get back on the game.

On this special day, I remember them all again (and a few more who travel with me daily --- my other grandma and my friend, Jaime) and feel their presence and toast their existence and their memory in my life.