And Still I Rise

Every Nov 2nd and to a lesser extent Nov 1st,I marvel that the lighting up of graves tradition is still alive and well. I say this because so many of the things I grew up with have died or are on life support. For example, I remember the Lenten season and being encouraged to give up something during that period. From my memory,my granny would not eat meat and she frowned at non sacred music during the period. Christmas was the time of serenaders and moonlight walks and picnics were a feature of my youth groups. All that has changed but lighting up the graves has endured and for that am happy.

Each year, I have made my pilgrimage to light candles for my granny and cousins who have gone on. I find myself having to explain to some family members why I continue,to them it is morbid or just a waste of time and money. I explain to them that it's my labour of love, my way of continued show of appreciation for everything the deceased would have done for me. To me, the candle I light is a sign of lives that once burnt brightly and some part of me likes to think that somehow the departed knows their memory has not faded.