It’s the silk flower time of the year.
We go to the you-can-craft-it-and-make-it-yourself store and buy these amazing bunches of fake flowers. I call them “plastic flowers.” For which remark, I am promptly given the “look” and sternly admonished with the comment, “They are silk and be respectful.” “I am . . . I mean they are . . . they sure are colorful,” I mumble, ending on the upbeat. When in doubt or in trouble, I try to fumble a compliment. It may not get me all the way back, but it can start the rehabilitation process.
It’s a yearly event.
Every All Soul’s Day, the graves in the cemeteries are decorated with bright masses of silk flowers.
We load up the car with sacks of color, make the trek down to the country, grab grandma and head on over the family plots.
This year we have to manage some other schedulings, so we drop off most of the flowers for the rest of the relatives to distribute.
Grabbing a few bright stems, we promise to stop by one of the closer graveyards on the way back to town.
It is a cool evening with a full moon just starting to shine through into the night sky.
“Over here.” I follow to where she stops. Kneelling, I pull out the faded blooms from last year. Mary arranges the new bouquet. We stand with our thoughts, say a prayer and move on to the next grave and then the next and another. Finishing up, I gather the frayed last-year petals and carry them to the bin behind the bushes for the caretakers to manage. As we leave that cemetery in the country, I turn and snap a picture between the trees at the graves of our family and friends with their new evening robes.
All Souls’ Day is the day after All Saints’ Day, which is the day after All Hallows’ Eve or Halloween. Halloween is October 31st, All Saints’ Day is November 1st and All Souls’ Day is November 2nd. They’re the same every year, so you can’t miss ‘em, even though we all do miss them, our close ones who have left this world. We remember them all on All Souls’ Day.
In the ancient thought, each of us is composed of four separate parts: heart, soul, mind and strength. The strength does the lifting. The mind does the thinking. The heart does the listening – I think of the heart as an old two-way ham radio, “Roger that, Big Buddy.” And, the soul does the deciding.
I believe it is our decisions that make each of us uniquely human. No two people have ever made, or will ever make, the same set of decisions. To me, the portfolio of my life’s decisions is the fingerprint I leave behind in this land and take with me wherever I may go. Those old thinkers also seem to see the soul as that part that leaves the body and moves on its way.
On our yearly pilgrimage with the flowers, it is a comfort to me that the souls of those we visit are what continue and may still be lingering about that place.
With Halloween near, I quickly turn my head to see if I can catch a glimpse of a ghostly shape slipping between the trees. As we walk to the car, I lift my eyes to try to spy the more saintly in their heavenly gear. With a smile and silent laugh, I close the gate, gaze at the blues and reds of the fading sunset and feel the warmth of all those souls there.
I look forward to seeing you all again, and we will certainly stop by next year.
Happy All Souls’ Day,
Grandpa Jim