My Reaper Is Not Grim
Why The West Needs Altars
TW: mentions of suicide & near death experiences
I've always had an odd relationship with death. I grew up hearing the tale of my moms near death experience at the dentist. As a child, my family decided that the remote control toy car that moved without batteries was an uncle who passed away at 18 checking in on us. By the time I was a teenage, my mom no longer enjoyed living and made multiple attempts to leave this realm. Death was always a close companion and a Neighbor of sorts. We didn’t speak to each other, but we waived hello from across the lawn. In case you’re wondering Deaths lawn is an overgrown wildflower yard.
At 32 I’ve already had a fair share of friends and family pass away. I’ve lost friends due to military service, car accidents and weakened immune systems due to Multiple Sclerosis. Each affecting me in different way, injecting nostalgia into what was once routine and turning old hobbies an act of remembrance. Death has transformed yoga, crossword puzzles and even drinking coffee into a tribute to their memory.
I speak to my dead. No, not that way, although I do know a few people who can perform that feat. I speak to them at my Altar. It’s a small space on my shelf in my living room with a large candle, a glass of water, a grandfathers pocketknife, and usually a small coffee or whiskey. It sits over my couch and faces the tv, allowing my loved ones to view the variety of shenanigans that me and my husband get ourselves into on a regular basis.
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I speak to my dead about my day, about my worries and hopes. I ask for signs, albeit obvious ones because I can be dense and miss the subtle ones. I reminisce out loud about the things we did together and things I wish we could still do together. I speak to them, but not often enough.
I leave little treats on my Altar. Salty chips, hot coffee, spiced whiskey and gummy candies. I leave them until I myself would no longer eat them or until the liquid is gone. I think of the meals we enjoyed and the new foods they would have loved.
I recently added a clay impression of my Bruce’s paw to the Altar. It's on a thin golden stand, the little grooves from his toe beans and dips in the clay from his nails perfectly preserved. It's an item I didn't think I'd need to add for a few more years, but I guess the Neighbor was lonely and needed his company.
The other day my husband said “I get it now.” I asked him what he meant and he said “I get why people have altars now. I want to leave a treat for him.” I cried. He cried. So from now on ill leave a smidgen of rotisserie chicken for him whenever we buy one. A reminder that once when Bruce was young and cheeky, he took an entire rotisserie chicken off the kitchen counter, stuck his head in the bag and went to town. When I took the bag from him, his whole face was covered in grease and he looked so proud of himself. I was so shocked that I couldn't do anything but laugh and give him another piece to reward his tenacity. It's not like I was going to eat the chicken anyway.
Ps. (He did this again later with an entire shepard’s pie.)
The West needs Altars for their loved ones. They need a spot to remember them and be with them without going to a cemetery. It's not creepy or spooky. Altars give you a home for the grief you need to shed and the love that you still want to share. They are a place of love, a place of anger and eventually a place of peace.
If that sounds nice, here are the basics for making an Altar for your loved ones.
-candle
-glass of water
-something that reminds you of them
Place them all together in one area of your home. Maybe on a counter or a shelf with space. Light the candle and start talking. You can truly talk about anything. You can tell them what you're cooking for dinner. You can vent about work. You can even reminisce about your adventures together. It really doesn’t matter what you talk about as long as you're doing it.
Honestly, altars, like funerals are for the living. It doesn't matter if you believe that their spirit is there. What matters is having an opportunity for healthy expression. Keeping everything bottled up is incredibly unhealthy in a multitude of ways. Your friends and family wouldn't want you to suffer, so make the damn altar already.
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Bye cuties