death, work and what I won’t talk about

Yesterday I was told I look like a dead woman.  Okay, apparently I look like her before she died, but still an awkward situation.  Am I supposed to take the comparison as a complement?  I have no idea what this woman looked like.  Am I supposed to feel bad that I reminded her of her dead friend?  Well, sorry lady, I was just trying to visit my friend and her new baby girl in the hospital. 

Said friend and her baby girl are the reason I probably will look like a dead woman soon.  I am filling my friend’s position at work while she is out on maternity leave.  Thing is, no one is filling my position while I am filling hers, so I have to do both.  Two full time jobs for eight weeks.  Well, now it’s seven weeks and two days, but who’s counting? 

My one consolation is that I am going on vacation in 28 days (yes, you better believe I’m counting).  But, I can’t talk about my vacation.  Just thinking about it makes my stomach cramp and my breathing erratic.  Talking about it triggers what I can only assume is a panic attack.  I am morbidly certain that something horrible will happen that will either prevent my vacation from becoming a reality or will make it far less than enjoyable. 

Looking forward to the future is an impossiblity for me right now.  I will only feel completely at ease after I have dropped my bags at the foot of my hotel bed and have filled my lungs with warm Caribbean air. 

Day of the Dead

I’m fascinated by the Day of the Dead as celebrated in many parts of Mexico and South America.  They set aside two days at the beginning of November to celebrate deceased children (11/1) and deceased adults (11/2).  I particularly like the imagery that is associated with this holiday.  Skulls and skeletons are decorated with flowers and bright colors, candy skulls are given out as treats to the children.  Death is celebrated, the dead remembered and honored.  So different than our Halloween, where death and the dead are something to fear (don’t get me wrong – I loves the Halloween, too!).  Instead of rotting corpses, they have dancing skeletons. 

Here are some Day of the Dead skulls that I made while I probably should have been doing other things. 

Life in most industrialized countries is so far removed from death.  It used to be that family members were in charge of preparing the body of a dead relative for burial.  The body would be displayed in the home for people to come and pay their respects.  Now, we pay someone to take care of these details for us.  If the deceased is cremated, many relatives or friends may not even see the body. 

I touched my dead grandfather when I was about five.  I stood on tip-toes to reach into the casket and touched his chest.  I hadn’t yet learned to be afraid.  And that fear is learned.  Supersitions, religions and society in general teach us to be afraid, to turn away, to let someone else handle it. 

Part of that fear comes from knowing that one day, we won’t be able to turn away because Death will be there for us.  He will be smiling.  I hope that I am, too.