There is No Sun in My Life Today

In the Family Way

“There is No Sun in My Life Today”: A Day of the Dead Diary
by
Nicolas Shump

October 31- There is No Sun in My Life Today
These are the words spoken by my eldest son upon hearing of the death of his Great-Grandpa Homer. He goes on to say that nothing like this has ever happened to him before. He is nearly 7. There is a message on the answering machine as we return home from our Halloween festivities. My wife’s grandfather has died. He was nearly 89 years old. His birthday is in three weeks. We had already bought him a birthday card. It is All Soul’s Day.
October 31- Now and at the Hour of Our Death
Every night when we put our boys down for bed we say several prayers. For the last year or so, they have been saying the Hail Mary. Initially, I decide that the phrase “Now and at the hour of our death” seems too frightening for little boys, so I amend it to “rest.” Not a major change, only one word, but it did shift the emphasis away from the finality of death, which was my intention all along.
Recently, I looked through their religious education booklet where I discover that by next year my eldest son could begin his preparations for his First Holy Communion. He is supposed to be able to recite the Hail Mary. So my wife and I decide to teach them the correct prayer. We have only been saying the new version for a couple of weeks. At first, both boys tend to emphasize the word “Death,” practically yelling it out. We find this amusing to hear this, but as we pray tonight, I wonder if it has taken on a new meaning. We conclude with a special prayer for Great-Grandpa Homer.
October 31- The Communion of Saints
Another prayer the boys have learned is “The Apostles Creed”, though it is a children’s version found in their First Catholic Dictionary. A few weeks ago, one of the boys asked me what the “Communion of Saints” is. I said that we should look it up in their Catholic dictionary. According to the dictionary, the Communion of Saints is the entire Church, the whole community of believers, living and dead. I have always found this concept to be comforting, the belief that the dead are still part of our faith community. Catholicism for me has always included an awareness, if not a tacit presence of deceased relatives in my life. I recall watching my mother faithfully light candles and pray before the Virgin Mary. It might have been for her intercession, though often it was for souls in Purgatory.
Some readers might dismiss this notion as nothing more than base superstition, but I definitely affirm the Communion of Saints. I celebrate the continuing presence of the Dead in my life. Our society is too concerned with pushing death and the dying into some corner where it can be safely ignored. We care for the sick in nursing homes or in lonely hospital wards. We gladly let others take care of our sick and dying while we busy ourselves with the illusion that we can maintain our youth indefinitely and somehow cheat death. “Remember you are dust and to dust and to dust you shall return.”
November 1st- All Saint’s Day
It is also the beginning of El Día de Los Muertos/The Day of the Dead. I go to work to request bereavement leave, which is granted. We leave for Hays, Kansas when I return from my office. Darkness blankets the lonely Kansas plains as we head down I-70. My wife reminisces about her grandpa. She recalls little thing- the way he flipped a match around in his fingers, his sweet tooth, the westerns that he read, and his overalls. She cannot remember him wearing anything besides his overalls. A few days earlier, we had taken the boys to the KU Anthropology Museum for some Halloween activities. The skeletons known as calaveras immediately drew the attention of my sons. These drawings, which adorned the walls of the exhibit, have become a familiar symbol of The Day of the Dead. As we pass an altar/ofrenda my wife is amused by the Diet Coke can found on one of the altars. I explain to her that the relatives of the deceased believe that the dead can return on these days, so the families place favorite items on these altars in anticipation of their return. As I listen to my wife speak of her grandpa, I begin to picture what his ofrenda would look like.
November 2nd- What Will My Legacy Be?
This is a question that has preceded the death of my wife’s grandpa. What does a life mean? How do we measure it? At work, I come across an obituary for a retired member of the Association I work for. I read of his professional life, his military service and his family. Is this the sum of a human life? I think of my children, ages 7 and 6, and my wife; I suppose this is my legacy. But how will my children remember me? What moments will catch hold in their memory, incidents that I may have forgotten about completely?
A friend tells us that she is divorcing her husband because of repeated infidelity. They have three children. What legacy is her husband establishing for his family? I am both saddened and angered by this news. What motivates someone to betray his marriage vows? It is by nature a selfish act. No though is given to the damage done to his spouse or his children. How will he be remembered as a father? I have seen the destructive nature of divorce in the life and relationships of my siblings. Several have been married more than once, while others seem averse to the idea of marriage altogether.
November 2nd- Family Trees
In my office there is a family tree drawn by my eldest son. It is a small tree with our immediate family only. After today, we might be able to fill in some empty branches. At the funeral home, we meet some relatives for the first time. It is remarked that that one of my boys looks like a Bence, his great-grandpa’s family. He quickly responds that he is a Shump, but the resemblance is undeniable. We exchange phone numbers and addresses, along with promises to send pictures and Christmas cards. A cousin from Oklahoma speaks of genealogical information for the Bence family that he will send to us. Our boys are the only children at the service.
November 2- Saying Our Goodbyes
As we leave Hays, we make one final stop-two actually. At a local florist, my wife looks for something to put on her grandfather’s grave. Not finding a suitable flower arrangement, she settles on a small teddy bear. She says that it reminds her of her grandpa. At the cemetery places the bear on the grave, it is actually the grave of her birth father. Her grandfather’s remains will be interred with his son, Buddy. I think of how often my sons crawl into our bed at night. Everyone agrees that Homer would want to be with his son now.
November 3rd-The Sun Also Rises
It has been a long week already, although it is only Wednesday. I see a card on the kitchen counter from a dear friend who is writing to announce the birth of her new baby daughter. At the school book fair, my wife finds a book that we plan to give to our nephew who is going to be a father in the spring. We are going to be grandaunts and granduncles. Amidst the mourning life does go on. I look at our sons and think of the poignant words of my son that I chose for this column. I can only respond by hugging him and saying that “The Sun Also Rises.”


The Kaw Valley Independent, November 15-December 14, 1999 (Volume 3, Issue 17)