This past week, as the days began to shorten and the nights became cooler, my thoughts drifted to All Souls Day, Dia de los Muertos. I have been trying to imagine what it would be like if everyone in this country, or around the world, were to light a candle and make an ofrenda to honor those who have died this year.
How many flowers would be cut? How many bottles of tequila/bourbon/wine/beer would be offered? How many candles would be lit? How many tears would be shed? As of this morning, 1,192,644 people in the world have died of Covid. There have been 230,522 deaths due to Covid in the United States alone. I’m afraid if we all honored the dead this year, we would set the world on fire, and I doubt our collective tears could douse the flames.
And what else are we mourning right now, in addition to those souls who have been lost to us? We mourn the loss of times spent with others, of being able to socialize freely, of the sensation of being wrapped in a friend’s embrace, of casual kisses on the cheek, and of the smiles of strangers we pass on the street. We mourn the loss of candlelit dinners inside with a circle of friends, the loss of live theater and music, of the ability to travel, and of the chance to plan holidays and celebrations with family and friends. We mourn the loss of our freedom to dance, to laugh, or to sing together, or to simply be in a crowded room, feeling the pulse of other humans around us. We mourn the loss of living without fear. There is so much to mourn this year — perhaps 2020 should be known as el Año de los Muertos.
So here we are at the turn of the season. Usually, I love autumn and the day-by-day cool down to winter. It’s a time to hunker down, pull out warm sweaters, make pots of simmering soup, stack firewood, and turn my thoughts inward, but this year is, of course, very different. As the nights have grown colder, I have been bringing in the plants from my deck. This year I am aware that this simple annual task is the signal that our outdoor socializing is coming to an end. Those sweet summer dinners with friends, lingering into the night with glasses of wine, playing music together and letting our voices rise up to the stars. With each plant I bring in, I mourn the loss of my connection to others and I worry about the line of winter nights that stretch out before us.
Only a few pots remain outside now, the last hearty plants. And of the flowers, what is left? Pots of marigolds, the traditional Mexican Flores de los Muertos. Tonight, on this night of All Souls Day, I light a candle beside my marigolds, and I pray that their scent will guide our journey through the coming winter and help us find peace over the long, cold, dark months of isolation to come.
Christine Wisniewski lives in Wellfleet and works as a personal historian at Saving Stories.
