The following post is a reprint from the Alacazem Astrology column of April 9, 2009
Life is funny – and so is death, for that matter.
Mom & Teddy
My Mother always loved Easter. As a little girl, I can remember being thrilled that we got to go out and buy new shoes, a new dress and an “Easter bonnet” before the big day. I always went for shiny patent leather and pastel pink. We boiled eggs and decorated them – I’ll never forget that smell of vinegar – filled colorful baskets with grass, jelly beans and chocolate bunnies. Then on Easter Sunday morning, we had an Easter egg hunt. All five of us kids ran around inside and outside looking for hidden treasures. It was kind of like Christmas, only different.
Later on, dressed in our Easter finery, we went to church – which wasn’t really the big deal of the day because there were religious wars in our family and it was always an issue of which church to go to – and heard about Jesus; the Last Supper, the Crucifixion and the Resurrection. That part was sad, happy and confusing. Being nailed to a cross? Ascending into Heaven? Coming back to Earth in 3D form? Questions of reality, truth and faith, but I knew for certain that Jesus Christ was a good guy. “Jesus loved me” and he loved children. He was an advocate for peace, he forgave betrayal and he had apparently “died for our sins” – whatever that meant. His life story reminded me to be kind and compassionate to others, say my prayers and be a good girl – even when I felt like being bad.
I could never figure out exactly why my Mom liked Easter so much. It certainly wasn’t due to religion. Maybe it’s because she loved ham, and that’s usually what she cooked for Easter dinner. Or because she could eat the leftover hard-boiled eggs on her famous “grapefruit diets.” Today, I think it was because she was revitalized and invigorated by the hopeful, inspirational energy of spring. It was Mother Nature’s time of rebirth and regeneration, new growth and fresh life. I think she also felt renewed and reborn at that time. As an eternal optimist, she was mostly happy in every season. But in spring, her spirit soared. When the first hyacinths and tulips popped up, she smiled. Winter had ended.
Years later, I was driving to Denver on Good Friday. My Mother was dying. There is no way to describe the deep sorrow and devastating emotions I felt on that day. We are all born of mothers; we are carried in their wombs and suckled at their breasts. We are all given life by the eternal feminine, the force of nature that creates, nurtures and provides, holds and protects. We are born of women, we are born of mothers.
When I arrived at my sister Karla’s house, with whom my Mother was then living, she was happy to see me. I carried an old photograph of her as a child, sitting in the grass amongst spring flowers, in a white eyelet Easter dress with her fuzzy teddy bear, Teddy.
“Oh, it’s Teddy!” she exclaimed. Back to childhood. Back to Easter.
We all acknowledged that it was Easter weekend. That we were all together, that we would be cooking ham. I felt so thankful and grateful that I was with her, that she was my Mother, that we had lived and breathed together here on this Earth.
On Easter Sunday, at 11:00 p.m. my Mother left this world and ascended into heaven, or wherever beautiful, loving souls end up. I was holding her hand. And it was Easter.
This year, on Dia de los Muertos, I awoke to a cloudless sky – the eastern horizon a craggy silhouette against the rosy glow of impending dawn. Planet Venus, brilliant beacon of love and beauty, shimmered above. All was calm and peaceful, the lights of Norwood twinkling in the distance. I stepped outside, the air felt warm, the morning dew was cool.
Later in the day I was out in the tree farm with my husband, watering trees – the sky and mountains stunning blues, the peaks iced with white. The spirits seemed calm and peaceful that day – just like the dawn – but I could see, feel and hear them rustling in the grass, dancing on the water and floating on the breeze.
I did break out the candles and kept the Guadalupe candle on our dining room table burning for 3 days, non-stop. I sent mental messages to my parents, grandparents, dead boyfriends, friends and relatives, but I refrained from any elaborate ceremonies or dramatic, colorful displays of remembrance or connection. And when the Full “Hunters” Moon rose above the still cloudless horizon in Dia de los Muertos twilight, I felt blessed. The message from the other side: “Be calm and peaceful, still and quiet. Know that we are here. Live in grace and walk in beauty…”
