“Why do you have so many photos of people lying in caskets?” my new grade-eight friend had said, pointing at the photograph of my dead grandmother in her tilted-to-the-camera open coffin. That was the first time that it occurred to me that not everyone had albums full of the dead.
Like any child, in any family anywhere in the world, what I grew up with was totally normal…right up until that 13-year old moment of self-awareness when I discovered that we were perhaps different.
Apparently, non-Mennonites peopled their albums with pictures of the living. Of course, we had those photos too…but gauging by my new friend’s comment, I realized we had a rather disproportionate number of dead people in those big red leather scrapbooks. Each black and white photo was held by those black corner tabs, tabs that were slowly losing their adherence, some of them slipping off completely, leaving pictures of those both dead and alive jumbled together.
I grew up going to funerals. And weddings. In fact, they were remarkably similar, most of the real action taking place in the cool concrete smell of the church basement after the respective ceremonies…buns, cheese, pickles and gallons of thin coffee were the highlights of both occasions.
And Mom always tuned in to CFVR 850 to hear the funeral announcements. They came on right after the Buckerfield’s hog market report.
Maybe all that early imprinting is why I’ve always wanted to go to Mexico and see the Day of the Dead, and why too, I love visiting cemeteries in any country I visit.
And now, after seeing the overwhelming scale of the event, after walking past so many candle-covered mounds in the cemetery, and after seeing the families huddled in around the graves to spend the night with their dead…I’m beginning to believe that our familial preoccupation with getting the best photo of the deceased in the casket might not have been so very strange at all.
Because when you get right down to it, Everything/Everywhere could be considered strange. Or a miracle. Or both.
Besides I like wearing black.
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Ever seen the book Wisconsin Death Trip? More pennies on dead eyes than a piggy bank holds.
We are keeping our fingers and toes crossed that democracy prevails here in the US this evening. I hope you have room for a few refugees up there should we lose…
I am going to look out for the Wisconsin Death Trip. Love the title already…And yes, if you need to run North let me know. Perhaps we’ll resurrect the Underground Railway. Just check to see which way the quilt is hangin’!
I grew up with those pictures too! Interesting perspective on them. Thanks.
Liz
Thanks for commenting, Liz. Good to know there’s a few of us out there with the funny (or perhaps not so funny) photo albums 🙂