El Dia de los Muertos

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In honor of a tradition that is not exactly my own but I am fond of none-the-less, I would like to start a thread of rememberance of people who have passed on in our lives but still live in our hearts.

My father died of stomach cancer when I was 10 years old. The memories I have of him are through the eyes of a child. At that age I didn't see a man with faults I saw a hero to aspire to. In my adult years I have gotten to know him better through stories from much older siblings, my mother, and a few other relatives.

As a child I remember getting up really early in the morning to find my father downstairs with scientific diagrams and notes spread all over the kitchen table. I'm not sure at that age I even believed he slept. I remember him coming home after being on long trips that lasted months at a time. He was a professor of anatomy and physiology but his main profession was as a pharmacologist. Most of my friend thought that it had something to do with farming.

Before he met my mother and they had me he was married to another woman and had 6 children with her. 2 boys and 4 girls. My oldest sister is 24 years older than me. I remember my oldest brother and my father did not get along at all.

I remember him sitting at the kitchen table gagging on food that he could no longer eat properly. My parents allowed me to eat on the balcony that day because I couldn't watch my father eat. I was too young to understand the complications of sickness.

I remember being at a summer camp I was forced to go to even though I really didn't want to be there. Birch Bay Ranch. All my family from all over Canada were visiting us and I was stuck in camp. On the last day of camp we had a rodeo in which we were all expected to perform. Some of my family came to see me there and I remember thinking how strange it was that they were all wearing sunglasses on such a cloudy day. I remember talkin to my 3 year old nephew minutes before the activity I was supposed to participate in was about to start. He was the one to tell me, "Grandpa got dead last night."

Several times a year, every year since he has died, I have a dream with him in it. This way I can keep him alive. I wish he could have met my husband and my sons. I wish I could have gotten to know him better.

Today I honor my father. Please choose friends or family of your own that you would like to remember. They would probably appreciate being remembered.

 

I am sorry for your loss, Dragonfly

My cousin George died this August, actually. He was 17, and had just visited us for nearly a month. It was the most time I spent with him in my entire life, and I got to know him really well.

We were both interested in computers, and we shared similar musical interests. Also, I learned that he was a great writer, and although he loved computers, he always wrote things out on paper. He was fun-loving, hardworking, and always tried new things out. A great friend, and a great cousin.

I will not go into details about his actual death, only saying that he died shortly after he had visited us. One of the things that he said to my aunt and uncle before he died (he died at a summer camp) was "Adam is a really neat guy. I really got to know him this summer."

One thing that I am glad about is that he died after having a great summer, after being happy. At least he got that much.

 

I remember my grandmother; she died in January '04 of a stroke. I like to think that she held out just long enough to give us one last Christmas in her tiny little home with her uncomfortable chairs and table plenty big for her but way too small for the whole family. Her potatoes baked in the oven, and the Jell-O with bananas in it that I still have not mastered. The homemade gifts and bags full of change; all it ever amounted to was love, a gift she gave freely and often.

Her refusal to use any new technology, disdaining a color TV for the tiny black and white with antenna. She wouldn't even accept a cordless phone! Hard as it is to imagine her keeping sane with her paranoid schizophrenia as her only constant companion, it is even harder to imagine how she shoe-horned in herself and four kids in that tiny house.

Though I always dreaded going each Christmas, I always left a bit happier than I had been. Even in that tiny kitchen where we ate, it always seemed that there was just barely enough room for comfort. With family about, the conversation almost never ceased, and boredom was not an issue. She filled the few silences with solicitous questions about our repast, and everyone got a little bit of everything.

A memory only ten months old this time, of our first Christmas without her, was so...empty. Nothing spectacular, nothing worth remembering, a pale spectre of a holiday not deserving of the name. You never really appreciate something until it's gone.

 

For my oldest brother, Joe, who died on a lonely stretch of highway on July 3, 1988.

Older than me by 14 years, he was more of a father figure than a brother. He took charge for the wrongs done to his sisters and gave it all for his niece and nephew. Unfortunately, he died before meeting his 3 other nieces and 3 other nephews. Sometimes I wonder how less effed up they would be if Joe had been there for them, too.

He's the bane of my emotional fragility, yet a rock of the family.

This Bud's for you.

 

My mom's oldest brother. He died of Lung Cancer in 1999. He was the Comedian in the family. He'd go into elaborate set-ups just to get someone. Other times it was just an odd but embarrassing one-liner with little warning but a simple set-up line that more often than not you would walk right into before you realized what he was up to...

An example of one of his more lengthy set-ups was in 1992. The family had foregone game six of the world series to gather to honour another of mom's brothers and his wife for surviving 30 years of marriage. During the meal he told me about one of his uncles that used to tease him relentlessly but was his favourite uncle. He then asked if he was my favourite uncle. I said yes, then teasingly he replied that he would tell the uncle being honoured that night...

The quick one-liner is demonstrated simply by asking the victim to retrieve a box. When asked which box, the response was "The box you stood on to kiss the elephant's ass!" Just when you think he's asking you for a favour, he stings you with a joke...

He was also very knowledgeable about Sports (even though he was a Montreal Canadiens fan), and had some good insights on Baseball and Hockey.

I remember the last time I got to see him. It was about 2 weeks before he died. He got me one last time for the road--he asked me to pass on "The Box" to another in the family. I think I have my target though...

 

My list would go on too long. So I simply say to all I loved that are departed you live yet in my heart.

 

* Grandma - 01.09.1996 aged 66 - Ovarian Cancer
* Grandad - 29.09.2001 aged 71 - Bowel Cancer
* Grandma - 14.05.2005 aged 72 - Aortic Aneurysm
* Grandad - 28.08.2003 aged 75 - Lung Cancer
* Michael Eldon - approx 1998 - Heart Attack
* Edith Wright - approx 1995 - Lung Cancer

 

I'll raise a glass of cheer to all I've loved and buried, the family members apart from my cousin all left in the twilight years my cousin sadly was cut down in his prime.

But the saddest waste is all the friends I've lost along the way not one of them was older than me.

And my first daughter who only lived 27 hours.

May their Gods have received them in the manner they deserved.

Thank you Dragonfly for this post

 

Everything good I do, I dedicate to my parents and grandparents (RIP).

A few years ago I realized my true heritage, that I was from an Irish traveller background. The reason for not knowing this was to save me from persecution from school and even work (this is a racial group that is still okay to discriminate against in the UK and Ireland). My grandmother was a settled traveller, and she wanted to save her descendants from the hardships that she had to face. I don't feel ashamed to be a different race, and I have go give thanks to my grandmother for the sacrafices that she made so that my family could have a better life. Now we can be proud of what we are.

 

Hey, Cúchulainn, good to see you're still alive. And not everyone mocks Irish people, you know. I have a few Irish buddies, who are ****ing cool, and my ex was of Irish blood too. Irish people rock!

Let this be a tribute to my grandfather, who died 11 years ago. I was still but a kid when he dies. I really miss him and his wisdom. I would had need of his wisdom through the years. A toast to your memory, grandpa

 

I am sorry for all of your losses. Para el dia de los muertos mi clase de espanol tiene un fiesta y yo vio un programma sobre el dia de los muertos. hows my spanish?

 

Seems good to me, except, tiene needs to be tuvo, the past tense of tiene, and you would use 'mirar' instead of 'ver', so it would be "mire un programma."

But this isn't a spanish lesson.

Thank you, Dragonfly, for starting this thread. It is good for me to speak about my losses to someone. I never really talked about it, and it is good to type it out to someone.

And for those who are wondering, the actual date of El Dia De Los Muertos is (or was) November 1 (today for me).

 

Thankyou to all who have been responding to this thread. Although thinking about lost loved ones brings sadness it also brings back some amazing memories. It don't ever want to forget the people in my life who are no longer in this world.

@DarkStrider - I imagine that your daughter was beautiful.


@Saber - I'm glad this thread has helped you in some way. I'm aware that Nov 1 is El Dia De Los Muertos. I started this thread a few days ago so that there would be some posts here by this day.

To everyone else who has posted here. Thankyou for sharing your memories.

 

Thank you - she was and always will be in my memory.

 

I... was reluctant to do it, but I decided to... do another memorium.

This one is in memory of my fiancee and our unborn daughter, killed three years ago in an fatal accident with a drunk driver. He's rotting in jail now, hopefully. This gives me some small comfort. For some obscure reason, fate decided to take them both instead of me. I still wonder why.

A toast to the memory of the two woman of my life. A part of me died with you two. Cheers.

[ November 14, 2005, 02:50: Message edited by: Disciple of The Watch ]

 

@Shell: I don't think the odds are in your favor.

On Tuesday, July 20, 1976, my uncle, Ben Bushnell was murdered in Provo, UT. That was about 8 years before I was born, but even though I never knew my uncle, I've heard his story from my mom and my aunt. The only comfort I have, is knowing that, Gary Gilmore (the mother****er who killed him) was executed on January 17, 1977. Anyone interested in the "news" story can read it here or here.

Unfortunately, Gilmore's memory seems to be living on, more so then his victims'.

 

I've lost a fair number of people, and I'm probably going to lose a few more in the next five years. I don't mourn the ones who died old as much; they lived to see their grandkids, at least (I have no living grandparents).

The saddest ones are the friends and relatives who saw no way through their troubles and decided to opt out on their own, or who were lost before they ever really had a chance.

- Stephen Smithers, my cousin, one day after his 18th birthday
- Adrian Reynolds, my school friend and fellows Tigers fan
- Monty Farrah, second cousin, schoolmate, friend and artist
- Amelia Morrison, a friend whose pragmatism and cutting wit caught me flat-footed all too often

I miss you all, and hope you've found a better place.

/me stumbles off for a tissue and

 

I can't remember when my grandma died, and my grandpa died before i was born. All my other friends and relatives are still alive

So the closest one to me that has died will be our dog Rex. He fell down the stairs at home, and broke his back
I was so little then, but i remember so clearly when my father came to me later that day and told me that Rex was gone. I've never ever been that sad neither before or after in my entire life.

I remember, he was lying in his little bed when i walked inside, so cold and stiff. I sat with him for several hours before we buried him in the backyard. Draped in his little white carpet, curled up as if he was sleeping.

And now i'm crying again...
I've gotta go see his grave when i get back home. Now I miss him so much again!

 

I had a half-sister named Maarit.

She died of lung cancer several years ago, befiore I had a chance to even meet her. I wish I'd had the chance to get to know her.