I was lost in Spain. On October 31st.

Driving alone in the days before ubiquitous GPS devices, I ended up in the town of Casabermeja - and couldn’t find my way out. Not a problem I thought. I’ll just employ my finely tuned and almost supernatural sense of misdirection. Predictably, I managed to get hopelessly lost in the incredibly narrow and winding cobblestone streets of the ancient town. 

Eventually, I gave up and found myself parked in front of Casabermeja's Municipal Cementario.

In Spain, as in most Spanish speaking lands, Halloween is known as "Día de los Muertos." The name notwithstanding, it is a joyous holiday...a time to remember friends and family who have died. Officially commemorated on November 2 (All Souls' Day), the three-day celebration actually begins on the evening of October 31. 

It is a time to honor the dead who are believed to return to their homes on Halloween. Many families construct an altar in their home and decorate it with candy, flowers, photographs, fresh water and samples of the deceased's favorite foods and drinks.  Relatives also tidy the gravesites of lost family members, including snipping weeds, making repairs and painting. The grave is then adorned with flowers, wreaths or paper streamers. Because of the date, el cementario in Casabermeja was a beehive of activity with a parade of locals streaming into the cemetery with flowers and buckets of cleaning supplies.  

Curious, I walked in with them and discovered endless rows of mausoleums built side by side and stretching away in every direction. It felt like another miniature town comprised of small white stone houses with narrow winding streets.  The mausoleums were covered with a riot of colorful flowers. Incredibly, every single gravesite I saw - and there were hundreds - was adorned with flowers. 

The day was extremely blustery and chilly.  Casabermeja is perched on high on a hill and the wind whipped through the cemetery scattering flowers everywhere and creating an eerie whistling sound as it swept through the narrow passageways between crypts.  All voices and sounds of the living visitors were carried away by the wind.  As I walked among the dead, I could hear only the rush of wind, the rustle of flowers and leaves, and my own breath. 

Walking aimlessly among the graves, I turned a corner and came upon an elderly and frail-looking gentleman pushing red and white carnations through the iron gate on the front of a grave - one flower at a time.  He looked very unsteady in the wind and a sudden gust blew the beret he was wearing off his bald head.  

The cap started rolling down the walkway between crypts and I scrambled after it to retrieve it for him.  As I walked back towards him with cap in hand, I realized that he had never looked up to see where his beret had gone.  He was still pushing carnations through the grate.  I glanced at the inscription on the bronze plaque of the grave.   

Maria Diaz González.  
2 Agosto 2010. 
A las 79 Años. 

His wife. Gone less than a year. 

I stood next to him for a moment - my hand extended with his hat.  Not until the last flower had been pushed between the iron bars did he turn to look at me.  I guessed he was in his eighties.  Thin, stooped, with rheumy eyes set deep and dark into his face.  For a moment we simply stared at one another.  Señor González and the stranger holding his cap.  Two incredibly different lives from two profoundly different cultures. The only sound was the wind whistling through the cemetery. 

His loss was evident in his eyes. I could feel the sorrow in his heart reach across the short distance between us. I thought of all that I have lost, or foolishly given up, or taken for granted until it was too late, and realized that he was not the only person feeling a keen sense of loss that day. Slowly his hand reached up to take the beret. We both held the cap for a moment and stared at each other.  I could see the question in his eyes. Who was this strange-looking person standing before him? Ironically, that was the very same question I had been asking of myself since my arrival in Spain on a solitary journey of self-discovery.  

He mumbled a barely audible, "Gracias".  "De nada", I replied.  And I turned to leave him alone with his wife and his loss. 

A while later I found my way back to Señora Gonzalez's grave.  Her husband was gone. I picked up a couple of loose flowers that had been blowing around in the walkways and slipped them through the grate.

Celebrate Día de los Muertos in Flat Rock

What: Day of the Dead Celebration
When: 5:30 -6:30 p.m., Friday, November 1. 2019
Where: The Gallery at Flat Rock, 2702-A Greenville Highway, Flat Rock
How much: Free and open to the public 

To pay homage to the traditional practice in Mexican Culture to honor those who have passed, The Gallery at Flat Rock is presenting a special Day of the Dead celebration on Nov. 1. The event is in conjunction with the current exhibit, “Crossing Cultures,” featuring the paintings , sculptures and work on paper by Jose Bayro C., of Puebla, Mexico. 

Day of the Dead, or Día de los Muertos, constitutes a multi-day celebration during which family and friends gather to pray for and remember friends and family members who have passed on, in order to support loved ones on their spiritual journey. Gallery owner Suzanne Camarata is hopeful that the community will add to the makeshift altar set up at the gallery for the event.

Participants are welcome to bring by an object or photo during the gallery’s regular business hours, or to stop in on November 1, 5:30-6:30, when sweets will be shared with those dropping in to the celebration, as well as Flying Wish Paper to burn. 

“This is for the community to express their love for someone they’ve lost with a memento, photo, or something they’ve made,” said Camarata. “We are celebrating the cycle of life and the ‘Crossing Cultures’ show by combining the traditions of Day of the Dead.”