Death. An inevitability we dread and a subject we avoid. But death should not be scary to face or talk about.
We never miss Mexico’s Day of the Dead. It’s such a healthy and endearing tradition. Instead of confronting death only at funerals then never speaking of it again, everybody in Mexico thinks about, and talks about death, and lost loved ones, for a few days every year. Instead of feeling sadness over those lost, they invite the dead to epic celebrations and parties with beautiful ofrendas created to honor their dead. These ofrendas are lovingly and beautifully arranged altars paying tribute to their deceased loved ones with flowers, candles, fruit and all their favorite foods and drinks, as well as pictures of the departed. During Day of the Dead, the dead are celebrated for the life they once had. And with this tradition, they’re kept alive in the hearts and memories of their loved ones in the world of the living.
I was reminded of all this recently because my mom died last week. And as heartbreaking as her death has been, she died peacefully with grace and dignity. As my mom would have wanted it, instead of a wake to mourn her death, we had a gathering at her home with family and friends to celebrate her life. We ate lots of food and played her favorite music as we shared stories with each other about my mom and her endless acts of kindness and unconditional way of loving everyone in her life. She was loved, and even revered, as the remarkable woman she was.
My mom was passionate about good food. She was an amazing cook. She loved gatherings and dancing and was always the life of the party. Growing up, my life was a perpetual celebration, with fun parties and joyful family gatherings every week for special occasions or no reason at all. And we always had music and lots and lots of delicious food. I have such fond memories of it all.
She loved life. But she never traveled. Not really.
Outside the United States, as an adult, my mom visited only her native country of El Salvador, and her partner's native country of Mexico. She traveled only to visit with family. She never saw Paris. Never experienced the Gothic Quarter of Barcelona. Never rode a camel. Never set foot in the Sahara Desert. Never saw Petra or the Great Pyramids. Never witnessed the sun set over a Greek island. Never enjoyed the food of Oaxaca. Never got lost in Venice.
On a recent trip to Mexico City with Mike, plus my brother and an old friend, my brother and I cried together, saying how much our mother would have loved an adventure in Mexico City like the one we were experiencing at the time.
My mom always wanted to, intended to, planned to. But Alzheimer's got hold of her before she could do it.
The real tragedy is that my mother's situation is nearly universal. Most would-be world travelers wait far too long to see the world and to experience the long list of places and things we'd like to see and do in our lives. Some wait for retirement before traveling. Some wait beyond that. And many, like my mom, die never having experienced the joy of travel and other cultures.
Death is a reminder to look life in the face, and ask ourselves: What is the meaning of our lives? What are we living for? Death reminds us that the best way to cope with death is to live. Not just biologically, but culturally, socially and spiritually live — not in 10 years, but today.
And so as I mourn the loss of my mother so profoundly — and lament the life she could have had, but didn't — I just want to remind everyone: Don't wait to travel. Don't wait to be the person you really are. Don't wait to live your life and truly enjoy the experience of living.
Here’s to making 2023 the year of enlightenment filled with renewed perspective with healthy doses of gratitude, compassion, generosity, forgiveness, kindness and joy! Oh, and some epic travel adventures and celebrations!
With love, Amira
