Don't Hold Back the Tears
"As soon as you can, begin to sing, then go ahead and keep on telling the tale" ~Martin Prechtel
For nearly a decade I have observed Samhain (pronounced sow-wen) each year in my private idiosyncratic way. Through the years this time of year has felt heavy, grief-laden, filled with tears and difficulty falling asleep or waking in the morning. My skin is often prickly, too sensitive, raw.
The past several years have increased that sense, even as I’ve built altars to honor my lineage and ancestors who have moved out of this physical realm. Samhain, which honors the dead and the end of the harvest season, coincides with the Dia de los Muertos*, a deeply reverential and beautiful Mexican tradition that goes far beyond the newly adopted American consumption of decorated skulls and Frida costumes (although those are also pretty awesome).
For the past few years, I’ve created an altar, or ofrenda, with mementos of those who have left this plane. I printed black and white sheets of paper with images I collected from Facebook alongside cherished and framed glossy photos, trying to bring everyone back together for a short time. I have left salt and water; an apple and banana; marigolds, carnations and sunflowers; a golden bird and mirror; a guardian angel stone; Virgin Mary candles; some sea shells; a few charms; and candies (Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups for Osci, always). I have sat and watched the flickering candle light their faces each night. Often crying.
This year, I could not bring myself to set the altar. I am traveling to Colorado to meet with a dear friend and will be away through the week. I am busy with a whirlwind of my own making, which (as I write this) I now wonder if I created in order to step hide away.
And yet, here I am on the morning of Samhain, Halloween, enveloped by the energy of my spirits. I’ve been writing about my grandmother for the past two weeks. The clock glowed 11:11 at me last night, Oscar, wishing me a good night. I found myself reminiscing about roller skating with my beautiful cousins and my childhood best friend, all now gone. I don’t have time for this, I tell myself—I have a doctor’s apportionment, a consulting call, an interview to host, a plane to catch. And yet. The tears will come whether we make space for them or not.
And what if the tears are nothing more than a celebration, a washing away of the veil that separates us from communing with the other side, connecting and being supported?
“As we wail we are simultaneously praising with our whole heart the life we have been awarded to live,” wrote Martín Prechtel in “The Smell of Rain on Dust.”
“Grief is praise of those we’ve lost.”
(Slow down and reread that. Grief is PRAISE of those we’ve lost. I have never read something so beautiful.)
This year has brought a new sense of connection, a lighter feeling, one of knowing, one of having learned to hold sorrow and awe, dark and light, at the same time. In a time when we are aware so many are mourning devastating loss and trauma (remember, we are only just more aware now, but it is always present), when we feel more divided than ever, there is a grace in connecting with the spirits of those who have passed on. I feel my grandparents, my cousins, my friends, my brother, and when I feel them close I ask them for guidance, how to be in this world. How to serve. (They often answer. My chosen people were never ones to hold back.)
In 2020, a friend asked what messages I’d been “receiving” in the aftermath of personal and collective grief. This is what I heard from deep inside and wrote. I want to remind you. I want to remind me.
“Life is beautiful even in the depths of sorrow and sadness. My capacity for love is profound. And the most important thing we have is our connection to one another.”
The past years have been a master class in holding that truth close and seeing that grief as testament to love and an invitation to live. On this Samhain, whether you consciously celebrate or not, I wish for that and grace in your life. I wish for that praise.
*If you are interested in marking Dia de los Muertos in NYC, I suggest two beautiful ways of honoring the holiday. If I were in town I would be visiting both. <3
My friend, the gifted artist Andrea Arroyo, will have a beautiful display of her work as part of the Flatiron NoMad Partnership’s event in the Flatiron North Plaza on November 1st from 3:00 - 7:00 pm.
And the grand foyer of The United Palace will become an ancestral altar on Nov. 1 from 6 - 9 pm. This event will also be live-streamed for the community. Register to attend on-line or in-person.
This is really beautiful, Carla. Yes yes yes to: “Grief is praise of those we’ve lost.”
“The past years have been a master class in holding that truth close and seeing that grief as restatement to love and an invitation to live. On this Samhain, whether you consciously celebrate or not, I wish for that and grace in your life. I wish for that praise.”
Thank you for this. It has been a year of profound personal loss for me, and now the convulsions of terrible murder and mass death dashes hope. So, thank you.