If You Belonged Here

The Dol's Day of the Dead

Last Sunday was el día de los muertos, the Day of the Dead. 

In high school, I had a wonderful Spanish teacher who made dead bread every year. We learned that in Mexico (and in many places in the U.S. now, too) people would visit cemeteries and have picnics and parties with their beloved dead. It's a time to remember the dead, to invite their memories back. It's a time to celebrate their lives. Our Puritan heritage might have us a little horrified at the idea of it. Personally, I approve.

At the Unitarian-Universalist fellowship that my husband and I attend, which I wrote about a while back, we had a special Day of the Dead service. I brought a photo of my mom for the altar. It was a picture of her playing guitar in the Catholic Church about 20 years ago, and she looked beautiful.

I sat down in the sanctuary with Baby Doc and Baby Dol and watched as people said hello and sat down. I saw our minister come in, and I watched her for a few moments. All I had to do was look at her and I rummaged in my purse for some kleenex. It was obvious I was going to go there. To the place where I'd be needing kleenex in church. 

The strange thing is, I was looking forward to the ritual of it, and the shared grief over the memory of lost loved ones.

What is it about death that is so hard to pin down? 

I realize that is a slightly vague statement, and I mean it, in all its vagueness. Just like every other living soul, I've lost people that I loved, and I'll lose more of them, in increasingly closer intervals as I grow older. Someday, I'll be gone, too.

When my mom died, I experienced a whole range of emotions: fear, sadness, grief, anxiety, regret, and also relief, gratitude, and comfort. My family spent the last few days of her life with her, by her side, and we probably laughed as much as we cried. 

So what is it about death?

It's not always as simple as we think it's going to be, not as directly brutal as we fear. It's not as easy as a greeting-card sentiment or a pithy religious certainty. She's in a better place was never much comfort to me. Wasn't here a good enough place to be? And even though I had tremendous relief over the knowledge that she wasn't in pain anymore, I didn't like that acquaintances felt like they could say that to me. 

Death invites contradiction.

And death is a funny fellow. Even when you think you know he's coming, maybe he's not. And heaven knows he shows up unannounced. 

You can worry yourself sick about a terminally ill loved one, but you don't really know what you think you know. It's going to be as terrible as you imagine in some ways, but what you don't realize is that it might also surprise you with the ways it adds layers to you: understanding, empathy, even joy and peace. 

It's just not really all that simple, after all.

At the Day of the Dead service today, I did cry. I actually had to really work hard not to do the kind of crying where you make that wheezy, hiccupy sound and your whole face puffs up and gets red. I totally could have gone there. I was able to hold myself back to a stop-and-go stream of tears. 

I couldn't say my mom's name during the roll call, where everyone stated aloud the names of their beloved dead. We said "presente" together, to recognize their presence there with us. If I had said her name, I was going to be a puddle on the floor. 

And I guess that's the thing I've learned about death. Sometimes, remembering the beloved dead knocks the breath out of you. It hits you squarely in the chest when you least expect it. The scent of orange blossoms, "The Rainbow Connection," people playing guitars, macaroni and cheese. Unexpected, everyday things can bring my grief back.

But it isn't all sad.

We danced at the service, too. We did a conga line around the sanctuary, and there was laughing, and clapping and dancing. 

My mom played the guitar in church. She made french toast every morning for my brother when he was little, and wrote to public television when they canceled "Specterman," a bizarre Japanese television show that was my brother's favorite. She rubbed my back when I was sad and made up songs for all of our pets. She threw a frying pan at my dad one time when he made her mad, and she cooked dinner almost every night when I was growing up.

My mom was brilliant, beautiful, quirky, messy, reserved.

She's gone now, I miss her with an aching heart, and life goes on without her. And even for someone like me, who has given up the possibility of heaven, she's still around. In the smell of banana bread baking in the oven, in my daughter's hands, in my brother's voice.

We go on even when they have gone on. 

We are, they are, presente.

The Dol: Don't Let The B*stards Get You Down

So, back in the day, I dated a guy who stood me up about ninety percent of the time. I dated him for a solid year, maybe a little longer.

Why, you might ask, would a young lady with sterling dating credentials, such as I had, stick around for that? 

Well, b*stards like the one I dated keep rolling out all the ways they suck in a slow and steady stream, allowing you to adjust to one unsavory behavior at a time, so that before you know it, you're ok with having his ex-wife answer the door when you show up for dinner. Oh, and you're holding a roll of toilet paper for some reason that eludes you right now, and you feel like you're the one who needs to come up with an explanation.

I learned a few lessons from that b*stard. 

First, if someone stands you up, they need an iron-clad reason, and they don't get to do it again. 

Second, everyone has a certain number of grandparents. Each of them can only die once, hence they are only good for a certain number of "I had to go to a funeral" excuses.

Third, and this may shock you old-fashioned types, it is perfectly acceptable to break up with someone via e-mail. B*stards who don't show up for their own breakup don't get to be all choosy about that crap. With the advent of texting and Facebook, I'm sure you could adapt the media to suit your needs. Would that we could simply de-friend people from our lives.

Fourth, ok, that third one has a caveat: the b*stard won't like the e-mail breakup, and e-mail is great for passive-aggressive nastiness. And you just know that the b*stard is skilled in the fine art of passive aggression. Be prepared for a stream of insulting, pleading, and possibly threatening e-mails to come your way. 

If you block the b*stard's e-mail address, be prepared for the b*stard to cleverly create a new one so that he can continue harassing you about the box of junk he left in your spare room. Never mind that you have offered to leave the junk outside the door while you're at work for him to pick up. (Hint: throw the box in the dumpster, or, better yet, have a bonfire with your friends and get bombed while you curse his name.)

Because the point isn't about being reasonable when it comes to the b*stard. The point is about him having power over you. Once it hits the fan with this person, there will be no compromise and no quarter. There's only one way you can win, and that is to walk away. No matter what lies are hurled at you (or, embarrassingly--at co-workers, friends, or family members), you keep your mouth shut and your fingers off the keyboard.

So. One would think that, having learned these lessons about the b*stard, I would recognize one when I saw one again. 

I, apparently, am a sucker.

The b*stard showed up in my life again, this time not as a 6'5" black man with a bald head, but as a charming, attractive woman whom I knew only vaguely through political activism.

This time, the b*stard didn't want to date me or stand me up, she wanted to get me to organize a completely pointless meeting so that she could hear about another meeting that I was literally still in the middle of attending. It's boring, geeky, political stuff. The ten of us in the world who love this crap all know each other, and we like to have wild times, like a couple of weeks ago when we got together to freak out about how completely awesome the new party controller is. And this one time when we all licked stamps and mailed stuff.

It's not for everyone.

Anyhow, the new b*stard initially wanted me to hold a grand, public meeting, in which "disinterested Democrats" could come and hear about the process. They would then, apparently, be magically transformed into voting, blog-reading, single-payer advocates with MoveOn.org bumperstickers affixed to their, and their offspring's foreheads. I've done this before and quite frankly, it failed. Because the "disinteresed Democrats" happen to be disinterested. Or, like the interested Dems, they would have gotten active during the Obama campaign.

So, yeah, I said no thanks to spending 8 kajillion hours planning that failfest.

In an effort to disengage from an annoying Facebook conversation in which the new b*stard urged me to "listen to the people" or she would "take it to the streets," I offered to put the b*stard on my personal, you'd-have-to-love-me to read the reports, e-mail list. She could, among other geeky gems, mine my geeked out political updates on the aforementioned meeting. She wanted on the list.

At this point, I'm thinking I'm done. Oh, not even close. Remember that bit up above about what the b*stard really wants? Right, power over you. I forgot that little bit, or I would have proceeded directly to my fourth rule and just ignored her as soon as she asked me to do something stupid and pointless.

I'm just going to give you the Cliff's Notes version of the rest of the story:

E-mail arrives from b*stard, who has cc'ed a dozen other people, cheerfully inviting them onto my personal e-mail list. B*stard is asked to cease and desist. E-mail arrives from b*stard comparing me to movie star who doesn't something or other blar blar constituents, ruining of democracy, etcetera, etcetera. Second e-mail arrives from b*stard, cc'ing party leadership, accusing me of brutal dictatorship and genocide. B*stard has truly shocked me at this point, and, ok, I admit I might have cried just a little. The b*stard hurt my feelings, for crying out loud. After all, I only ever committed that one genocide but I was only a teenager and I don't think it's fair to hold it against me now.

It took me a good day, but I gathered my senses and realized that I was dealing with the b*stard again. 

I defriended the new b*stard on Facebook. You better believe she didn't like that maneuver. For now, at Polly's advisement, I haven't blocked her e-mails. Any engagement would only encourage the bastard. No need to fan the flames. And I have a pathological need to know if she's saying bad things about me.

Not really. I just don't want to miss out on the group announcements.

I admit that the b*stard had me on the ropes. Again. It was humiliating and a little horrifying to have her question my integrity to friends and colleagues of mine. But when I realized that it wasn't about me, really, it was about someone looking for a little square foot of power, I was able to just walk away from the discussion. Because there's no reasoning away crazy.

I prefer to use my energy to keep fighting the real evil powers of the universe, one for-profit health-care plan at a time. 

The Dol: Can I Get An Amen?

(Hey y'all. I'm on vacation as I post this, and it's the kind of vacation that doesn't come with wifi. It's a good thing to unplug every now and then. You should try it. Anyhow, I just wanted to let you know that I'll check back and reply to comments as soon as I can. Cheers to all of you! -The Dol)

Baby Doc and I joined a church recently. Actually, we joined the local Unitarian Universalist Fellowship. It's maybe not so much a church, in the strictest sense of the word. They don't do much praying. They don't do much believing in God, either. In fact, I think there might be a few atheist members.

It's my kind of church.

I keep chuckling at myself, because I never thought I'd join a church again. I was raised Catholic, but it didn't take. I just don't have faith in God. That doesn't mean I'm not a seeker. I am. I have always felt a need for a spiritual path and a spiritual community. When I was a practicing Catholic, I loved the music, and I loved the rituals. There's something comforting about memorized prayers, rosaries, and the rituals that attend the Mass.

But what it came down to is, it was superficial for me, because I could never accept on faith the fundamental idea that there is a supernatural being with power over the universe. Maybe God does exist, but my skepticism just doesn't allow me to have faith. I need evidence.

That said, there's something really nice about a church community. I've really felt like I wanted it for Baby Dol's sake as much as my own. While I'm perfectly happy to impart my wisdom to her ad nauseum, I thought it might be nice for her to get the benefit of community, too.

So, when Easter rolled around, I decided to pack my little family in the car and go to church.

I knew about the local UU fellowship because they are active in a lot of the same social justice activities as I am. They hosted an organizing meeting not long ago for people opposed to Proposition 8, which stripped gay couples of their right to marry. It's a cause near and dear to my heart, because, as Polly says, why shouldn't they be as miserable as the rest of us? (Just kidding, Mr. Dol!)

And there was a peace demonstration in my town recently, marking the 5,000th servicemember death in Iraq and Afghanistan. The minister of the UU fellowship was there to give a benediction and speak. Oh, and the minister is a woman. With tattoos! She's cool, people. She's cool.

I feel good about this new thing in my life. It seems like every Sunday that I've gone to my new church, I've been moved in some new way. 

A couple of weeks ago, they had a special music service. For such a small fellowship, the music is truly amazing. It's first-rate. Mr. Dol has busted out the viola and started practicing so that he can join the orchestra. 

Heck, Earth Day is one of their "holy days." 

Last Sunday was the New Member service. They do this service twice a year, to officially and ceremoniously welcome new members to the fellowship. And you know what? I really did feel welcomed. As I stood up at the front of the room with the other new members, and looked out at the crowd, I saw a couple of people with tears in their eyes. 

I didn't think I'd find a place like that again, where there's a sense of being together for something good and non-political--I have plenty of that already. The political stuff is great, and I love my progressive friends, because we share a common cause. But there's something special, something like family, when you make a commitment to a fellowship of people, for the sake of spiritual development, but also, and more importantly perhaps, for fellowship itself. 

I feel like I've received a gift, because I never thought I could find a home like this again without also finding a faith that I don't think I'll ever find. 

Oh, happy day.