I thought I'd share with you this thoughful post from farkleberriesUSA, written by my friend James: "There is nothing to fear from the dead. It's the living we should fear."

I live in a bordertown in the desert southwest, and I've come to realize that this place, and so many others like it, may share a flag and some other surface similarities with adjacent communities, but like cities and towns on both sides of the fence, this ain't the US of A, and it ain't old Mexico, either. It's La Frontera, the border, and it's a world unto itself.

Cultural assumptions about how people should or could behave go out the window after a short time here. And I can't help but soak up some of the lifestyle and the attitude, in the same way the people of Mexico's borderland have absorbed the attributes (bueno y malo) of us "norte americanos." Each November since my migration to this place, I've attended displays of altars in honor of "Dia de los Muertos" (Day of the Dead). And it was jarring at first, those smiling skulls, and the food set out as some kind of offering. But after thinking upon it, and considering it's origins (Catholic with a hint of Mayan, in a country that emerged from a history awash in blood and death), and it's attributes, I think it's probably a healthier attitude than most.

I've already lost two brothers-- one, suddenly, to a car accident over 20 years ago; another, 6 years ago, to cancer. Add to that the loss of a high shool friend at age 17, and I can say I'm probably a person who has thought about death and dying more than alot of people I know, young or old. That being said, I have developed a profound appreciation for this celebration, this honoring of friends and family passed, this smiling handshake with death. It's a healthier response, as far as I'm concerned, than the "let's talk about anything but that" attitude in the US that basically encourages people to turn their face and run from the idea. My appreciation has developed to the extent that I'm going to create memorials of my own at our community's Dia de Los Muertos celebration next November.

And that cross-cultural shift? I also saw some of that here at Halloween, with scores of muchachos y muchachas at our door, though some didn't quite seem to get the 'routine' or custom-- I had more than a few wearing no costume whatsoever, yet with pillowcase (candy bag) in hand. For reference, it's better to man the candy bowl and distribute the treats individually. Otherwise, you're inclined to chastize repeatedly, "Solamente uno, por favor!"

You know, I feel the same way about death and the dead. I think many people unfortunately conflate celebrating the dead with celebrating death itself - when nothing could be further from the truth. After all, the dead are merely people who no longer walk our Earth. They were our loved ones, neighbors, friends and family in life. When they still live in our hearts, are they any less so in death?

On Halloween, Bari and went for a walk through Rosehill Cemetery - the city's oldest and largest (350 acres) about a mile south of where we live. It's a remarkable place, where many of the area's famous historical figures rub plots with the recently departed of Chicago. At the grand white Joliet limestone entry gate, a series of majestic Civil War era monuments greet visitors; its winding neatly groomed paths and roads lead to thousands of resting areas that range from solemn and eerie to pious to whimsical. I could spend hours wandering there.

Echoing the neigborhoods of the living, at Rosehill there are Latino, Russian, Irish, German, Scandinavian, Jewish, Chinese, Greek and Polish sections - and diverse places where all share together regardless of nationality or religion.

There are areas where Classical-style mausoleums and obelisks of the wealthy dead block the sun from the small flat markers of the less well-heeled, but while the grand memorials tend to be bereft of signs of attention, often the plainest graves have the freshest, most beautiful flowers left behind only hours before. Even in death, love bears no relation to material possession.

And there was little there to feel frightened of, even in the howling wind that blasted dry yellow and brown leaves into our faces and cast alternating swaths of sun and cloud over the landscape. I think the dead appreciate our remembrance; perhaps there is a measure of joy in it for them somehow as well.

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