Best & Worst: That was Then

When my sons were younger, each year on November 1, we would walk an old graveyard, read the tombstones, talk about loss, talk about life, speak of honoring the dead, and their lives, and remembering.  It was my attempt to honor the Day of the Dead, and to acknowledge death and grief as a part of the human condition. But in their young lives, the loss had been death of a marriage, not death of a person. Almost three years ago, my sons' father, my first husband, died. The visits to the graveyards on November 1 ended. The grief has been ambivalent and anger full. Difficult and releasing. Ice cold and fiery hot.

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