An Altar for the Ones We Gave Back

It was beautiful, magical.
Our altar welcomed women and men who had lost their own children.
I didn't expect that, it certainly wasn't planned.
We built it to honor our babies who had died.
We added the names of your babies, too,
(Hanging from strings under the tree,)
Those precious babies we've gotten to know through your blogs.
We left some of the Post-its blank,
In case someone came by who wanted to add a name.
But it was so much more than I ever would have thought...

We set up our altar yesterday afternoon,
Under a tree, Aliza, Elizheva, Mimi and I.
Baby clothes hung from a clothesline and clothespins between two trees.


Baby books and toys and a baby bath and candles,
So many candles.
My Tikva shrine I had made on Saturday.
Yes, a shrine, a beautiful shrine for my beautiful Baby Girl!


A poem Aliza had written for Lev.


Beautiful images Mimi had made for Maytal.


Mimi's three year old asked her, "Is Maytali coming back soon?"

I came back in the evening, before the procession arrived,
But already there were crowds of people walking from altar to altar,
Leaving flowers and incense and candles and candy.
All of our candles, and even more, had been lit by others...


Wow!

After the procession, someone had left their picture of Maya,
A ten-year-old girl who had died, under our tree with the babies.
I went to the tree to write Korrine's name on a piece of paper to hang from a string.

And this beautiful little one found her (or his?) way home, too,
To be with the other babies.


I didn't see who left her candle there,
But I imagined they had brought it to Day of the Dead
Hoping to place it somewhere in remembrance of their child.
They placed it right below Tikva's little shrine,
Perhaps seeing that she, too, had struggled to breathe.
Maybe they felt comforted to know there was a proper place for her candle,
In the company of other lost babies.
I looked at this little one, and at Tikva, for a very long time together,
Crying for their lives cut so short.
Sad for how hard they had to work during their lives.
I imagined they might be dancing together in the breeze to the drums that were playing nearby.

I stood back and watched people approach our altar,
Slowly, taking it all in, spending time with the babies.
I could tell right away if someone had also lost a child.
They sat or stood very still, looking closely, tears falling down their cheeks.


This beautiful couple came by several times,
Hugging each other tight and crying together.
I said nothing to them, just felt they needed to be left alone.
They kept coming back to spend more time under that tree...

I did talk to Carla, who was dressed like a bride,
Face painted white with black, like a skeleton,
There with her seven-year-old son Xye, face also painted,
Placing flowers for all the babies.
They cried together, held each other, spoke about Aeon,
Who also died this year, at two months, like Tikva.
I put my hand on her back and asked if she wanted to write her baby's name to leave on the tree.
I asked how old her child had been,
She said, "Oh, just two months,"
As if that was such a short time that it should be nothing,
But clearly it was not nothing.
I said, "Mine was two months too."
She put her hand on my back and asked which one was mine,
And went to look at Tikva's shrine.
She and her son left flowers for Tikva.
He didn't want to leave,
He had a lot to hold, to understand.
They stayed for a very long time.

Someone wrote this on one of the Post-its that hung from the tree:
To the one we gave back.

Just before leaving, I went to look at the big photo of Tikva on her shrine.
I sat there before her, just looking into her big brown eyes,
Doorways to her profound old soul,
Tears in my own eyes, and these words on my breath:
Oh Tikva...
You died.
I can't believe you died.
I didn't want you to die.
Sweet Angel...

I walked to the path and wrapped myself in Dave's arms.

I've put all of my photos from Dia de los Muertos on this Flickr page.
It was stunning, the altars were marvelous.
I fell in love with San Francisco all over again,
For its funkiness, its diversity, its love of all things weird and shocking,
The community that came together to honor death and dance in its presence.

I thanked Tikva for bringing me there yesterday,
To this space I had never experienced before in all my years in the Bay Area.
I thanked her for allowing me to make a gift I hadn't intended to make,
A place that welcomed babies and those who lost them,
Those who love and miss them,
And everyone else who helps us hold them and our own broken hearts.