Joycee Wong is a Curator at our San Francisco History Museum. Last year at this time — Halloween and Day of the Dead celebrations — Joycee reflected on the hope and light one finds in darker issues of mortality. She got to thinking about it again, and shares this with us. (CR)
Death and dying have been on my mind lately. It’s October…the time of year when many think about Halloween festivities. For me, it’s a time to reflect on deceased loved ones — I’m one of many who observe rituals to honor the dead.
Last year, I wrote about the similarities between Chinese and Mexican cultures in their annual rituals honoring loved ones that have died. As a result of the research I did for that post, I was inspired to borrow rituals from El Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) to do at home, including cooking up a traditional dish. (I will write about that in an upcoming blog…stay tuned!)
It’s said things often come in threes, and I believe it. I’ve had three different ways to think about death and dying in the past month.
First, it was the anniversary of my mother’s passing. Her ashes rest next to my grandmother’s, and they each have a niche next to one another in a columbarium.
If you’re not familiar with a niche, it’s sort of like condo units for ashes — a glass-paneled, cubical space on a wall, shared by several. It creates a beautiful setting for families to visit. Mom and grandma’s ashes occupy the tenth row and face the Pacific Ocean…good Feng Shui.
My grandmother was a perfectionist, and she picked an amazing memorial park that has the most expansive and stunning setting I’ve ever seen, atop a mountain with 360 degrees views of the San Francisco Bay area. I come here regularly to visit with them and pay my respects, to cry and to celebrate with food and flower offerings. It’s a very peaceful place, spacious with sounds of flowing fountains nearby, and pretty floral arrangements adorn the walls and floor space.
The second occurred a couple weeks later. I was at a friend’s country home in Capay Valley, Calif., a tiny agricultural town with population less than 300. While picking fruit in the orchard, I came across a deer carcass that had been dead for some time. It wasn’t too big, so it was pretty young when it died. I couldn’t help but wonder how its young life was cut so short. What wrong decision had it made that led to its untimely death?
I give hundreds of tours each year at the Wells Fargo History Museum in San Francisco. Kids sometimes ask if, in their attempts to reach California in search of gold, ’49ers died and how. Well, some certainly never make their destination. Many passed away from disease or accidents along the way. Some likely perished from malnutrition, or maybe from violent conflict.
Seeing the unknown deer’s remains made me wonder about those early California pioneers who came out west and never went back. How many are buried alone, and how many with family?
The next day, I stumbled upon an answer to these questions. I needed some flour and sugar to make a tart from the pears I picked in the orchard. Driving down the country road, I saw a sign for cemetery and something tugged at my heart. I decided to take a look and discovered the cemetery was dedicated to the early pioneers in the valleys here.
I walked around admiring the many tombstones and family plots, and the love and care with which family, friends and staff maintain these grounds. There were many large plots where multiple generations are buried together and I find that very endearing. One of my favorites was a re-created “family retreat” — a grove-like setup with a nice sitting area.
I decided to sit down here, to reflect and meditate. Before taking a seat on a beautiful stone bench, I inwardly asked the deceased spirits’ permission, and sent a blessing to them and their families. It was such a comforting experience, enjoying the silence amidst the departed, and reveling in the warm sun. After a time I walked back to my car, filled with peace and hope.
To me, death does not mean ending and sorrow, even when we lose someone dear to us. Yes, there is grief and a sense of loss that they can no longer physically be with us. But I don’t see death as an”ending” — rather a”transition” to a greater reality.
When someone dies, they leave us with a gift…it is up to each of us to find what that gift is. This saying came to me when I confronted the death of my grandmother — the only grandparent I have ever known. (The others passed on long before I was born.) In so many ways, finding the meaning of that”gift” is what our lives are about.
I will talk more about that notion in my next post, as I relay my experiences of Día de los Muertos. If you happen to be in San Francisco and would like to join me, I will be attending my first Dia de los Muertos in San Francisco’s Mission district on November 2, 2010.