Everybody knows about Halloween. And a lot of people know about All Saints’ Day (All Hallows’ Day), observed November 1. But next to nobody knows about All Souls’ Day, observed November 2.
Today is All Souls’ Day—a day to remember deceased loved ones, to visit cemeteries, to inspect old photos, to light a candle, and raise a toast.
All Souls’ Day is also a time, especially for Catholics, to offer prayers for loved ones stuck in purgatory—a kind of detox center between heaven and hell, something like New Jersey. (Sorry, Melinda.) The more prayers offered, the quicker the detainee is transferred out of purgatory into heaven.
I don’t believe in purgatory. I don’t think heaven, hell, or purgatory are real places. (No hell beneath us, above us only sky works for me.) But I do believe they are real experiences here and now. I’ve been in all three “places.” I know of others who have too. More than once.
Sometimes life is heavenly. Sweet as honey. Sometimes hellish. Bitter as wormwood. Sometimes hard. Torturous as a crucible.
All Souls’ Day may sound morbid, but it doesn’t have to be. In Mexico, it’s known as The Day of the Dead. It’s a joyous celebration full of singing, dancing, and eating. Departed loved ones are remembered fondly. The living and the dead are reunited. I don’t know how, but they are. I’ve heard that the barrier between the living and the dead thins now and then.
Today I’m starting a new practice for All Souls’ Day. I’m going to focus on one departed friend and remember that person throughout the day.
For no particular reason, I picked Peter.
Peter was a neighbor and friend. He died 10 years ago from pancreatic cancer. He was a molecular biologist, a stay-at-home dad, an advanced math tutor, and a school volunteer. He spoke French fluently.
We biked often with others over long distances. He was a versatile mechanic. He repaired chains, gears, and wheels. He also knew everything about pretty much everything and let us know it. He was temperamentally inclined to take spontaneous detours, which often led to long, steep, tortuous hills.
Peter drove me nuts. But I loved him dearly. And today I remember him fondly.
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As Bob Hope used to sing–thanks for the memory, Randy. Today I am thinking of another Bob, my youngest brother. His birthday was today, November 2nd. He died in 2009 after a life lived on his own terms, which brought a lot of love, laughter, pain, and grief to those loved him. A wandering spirit of the hills and dales, drug-cursed vagabond of the streets, and generous soul when sober, he passed through this life far too fast for those who wanted to help him but didn’t know how. But he left me with a freeing gift that mirrored his own insatiable need to be free. “I love my life,” he said. “I have lots of friends, have a bike, and can go anywhere I want.” Ride on, Bob. May this birthday be a happy one, wherever you are. And may you know that you are being held in love by your sisters, Betsy and me, and those who knew the real Bobby beneath the bravado.
You’ve captured Bobby beautifully, sis. He was his own free soul. I’ll always remember his deep, hearty laugh and how he could catch you off guard with an insightful, witty comment that captured the irony of s situation with humor and humility. Bob was an observer of life–not one who needed to take control or stand out in a crowd. As you, I miss him…and hope he has found peace.
Thanks, Bets. Yep, the humor, humility, and voice. And harmonica! He and Billy could be quite an act together.
Remembering people dear to us who have transitioned is a poignant activity or practice. I often regard my late and beloved sister in this way, as she was a kind and enlightened soul, a real inspiration. But the practice is more than mere recollection. As Gibran stated, “Remembrance is a form of meeting.” Not only is it a sense of mystical and holy huddle, but it is a form of gratitude. One might even say a form of completion. As Dag Hammarskjold observed, “Do not seek death. Death will find you. But seek the road which makes death a fulfillment.”
What a great idea, Rev Randy. Im the last left living from my nuclear family, so this practice would require getting through the pain again of loss. Both my sister and brother were younger than me. Thanks for the notion.
I will be thinking of Ancil Harbin this day.
I was just shy of 18 when I arrived at the 101st Airborne. I met Ancil out of Mt. Washington, Kentucky.
He was an ardent explorer of recreational pot and drugs. Moreover, he had an ample supply. He was a third-generation guitar and fiddle player and inspired me to take up the guitar, John Prine, and pot.
Ancil’s anthem was the live version of Still Alive and Well by Edgar Winter and White Trash, turned way up loud. I travelled to Kentucky to see him when I got out of the Army. I was headed to college. He was headed to Florida to play music. I never saw him again. He died 9 years ago. I miss him.
Jim, I am beautifully touched by your story today. Isn’t it something–to look back and realize what a generous gift we receive when people who are comfortable in their own skin, “the real deal,” not only come into our lives, as if by chance, but linger–even when we never see them again? That is some kind of personal magnetism! A great and valuable memory, is Ancil. I hear Edgar playing in the background as we speak.
The 101st brings back loads of memories. My dad was a leg at Ft. Campbell–he said only 2 things fall out of the sky: bird sh– and fools. We ended up staying in Clarksville after Daddy was lost somewhere in the Pacific enroute to Vietnam. Long ago and faraway memories.
I learn so much here, Randy… All Hallows Eve, ( my birthday ), All Saints Day, All Souls Day…different, yet connected. I’ve been thinking of my nuclear family (all gone across the veil), so grateful for my life, & for the good times shared (& hard times endured together). Also thinking of relatives departed, friends gone over, and just being drawn to the fire. The veil is the thinnest, these 3 days, & sharing this sense with you all feels connecting & enlivening. Thank you for BEing here!
A beautiful idea. I’m remembering all that have come before to put me in this place today 🕯️
And the rest of us are grateful to them!
This seems like a sweet way to remember special people. Thanks for sharing the idea!
Though reminded suddenly by some song, sound, activity, or view of a loved one no longer here, this purposeful recall can be a real tribute and less painful than the jolts that can strike so deep in unexpected reminders.
“Religion is largely filled with people who are afraid of Hell, while spirituality is for people who have gone through hell,” Franciscan friar Richard Rohr
Fantastic Rohr quote! Thank you—a real keeper!
PBS had a special last evening on the Day of the Dead in Mexico. Very moving. Perhaps they’re running it again today. I haven’t checked, but would recommend highly.
As someone who was born and brought up in New Jersey, I do NOT see it as hellish! Have many fond memories. But a lovely tribute to an old friend.
I, also, was born in New Jersey–thus, a Jersey boy in origin!
It’s good to remember and be reunited. As Jack Kerouac once commented, “It’s memory, babe.” That’s what we all will one day be. Memory. Nothing more nothing less. So raising a glass to those who’ve passed on is highly fitting. By honoring our loved ones, we also celebrate ourselves. I was out to DC to see Hot Tuna (Jorma Kaukonen and Jack Casady, formerly of The Jefferson Airplane.) Jorma performed Rev. Gary Davis’s, “Death Don’t Have No Mercy”. How true!