In spite of the many names we
use to honor today, it's all about
those adults we've lost in our
lives.
That wondrous altar we've used
during the month of October to
honor our dead, stands at the
ready for today. By now, we've
added those precious photographs
of our lost ancestors and perhaps
other loved ones lost to us.
The 31st, we paraded through the
streets dressed as the dead. The
1st, we honored the loss of those
precious souls dearest to our hearts,
our children. Today, finally meeting
at the familial altar, the storytelling
begins.
Perhaps, we have beer or wine
to sip. A few snacks to munch
on as we tell tales out of school.
Bits of cloth to dry our tears . . .
Let the stories begin!
Me thinks the reminiscence tends
to be somewhat the same year
after year. Some details may be
added and others dismissed, but
we do know and recognize our
stories.
We chuckle at Tío Pepe's antics
at parties, the fine cuisine of mi
abuela Clemen, the jokes la
cuñada used to so badly tell, and
on and on. As we embrace the
memories, tears may begin to
fall 'midst the laughter, but one
and all, precious beyond belief.
I find, just in the telling, that my
heart already pains me. I feel that
lump in my throat and tears nigh
onto brimming over . . .
dios me ayude
le ruego me consuele
dolor me puede
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