I was looking through some of my pictures of my trip to La Manzanilla tonight. (Yes. I am still dreaming of living in a little fishing village.) And I ran across this picture. The structures are tombs in a cemetery right off of the beach. Two things struck me. As I look at the picture I realize that the three tombs almost look like a sailing ship -- as if the whole structure was ready to sail to the Undiscovered Country. The more poignant point, though, is not apparent in the picture. The black tomb is for the body of a 14-year old boy. From the pictures left on the structure, I would guess he succumbed to cancer.
All of this caused me to think again of how cultures deal with death. In our rushed culture, we go through our ceremonies and forget the dead. (This appears to be a relatively new American phenomenon. I remember going to the ceremony with our full family on Memorial Day and decorating the graves of all our relatives -- not just veterans. And the other families in town were there, as well. Maybe we can no longer stop for death, but he will certainly stop for us. -- Sorry, Emily.) My father's ashes, for instance, are in a cardboard box on my piano. On Father's Day, I put a tie on him and take him to church.
The Mexican remembrances of the dead are well-known: day of the dead, night of the dead, standardized mourning customs. All designed to steal part of death's sting. As long as we remember those who have gone before us or were taken from us, parts of who they were will always be a part of who we are.
For those of you wondering when I am going to return to writing about my planning for Mexico, you just read a segment of those thoughts.
5 comments:
I recently finished reading Randy Alcorn's book titled "Heaven."
If we all had a better understanding of our future, beyond death, we could better handle death, both ours and those around us.
The young girl in Corvallis ("Boey" of Extreme Makeover Home Edition fame) seemed to understand what is truly important before she passed from this world to the next. Her's is an inspiring story.
About the book ... it is a 500 page theology of Heaven. Very good, although sometimes redundant. I plan to write a more complete book review in the near future.
Nicely put.
As Jiggs goes through his final stages of life, I find myself being drawn more to the philosophical aspects of our lives. It is very easy to slip into either self-pity or, worse, denial and indifference. I think of the people we have lost recently -- your grandmother and grandfather, for example -- who have added so much to our lives. Too often we have a very superficial approach to how we "honor our father and our mother." The way we live -- the way they have affected us -- shows how we truly honor them.
It is always good to hear from you.
Steve--I finally took time this morning to read through your site--your move to Mexico sounds wonderful, and your pictures are fascinating. I'm not so certain, though, about the friend who took refuge in your shirt. . . better yours than mine, I think! I am so sorry about Professor Jiggs. . . pets are such a huge part of our lives and leave such a tremendous void when they leave us. You will be in my thoughts as you and he go through his last days, weeks and months together.
Colleen (Combes) Stransky
Thanks, Colleen. Your comments mean a lot. Reconnecting with high school friends is always a pleasure, but even more so under these circumstances.
Steve, after a year in a small Mexican village, you would be bored out of your skull. Unless you are an alcoholic. They tend not to get bored.
I doubt you are that.
Some things are better just dreamed of.
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