Remembering our Beloved Dead

            Last Friday, I think, was the “Day of the Dead” in Mexico.  Sunday we celebrated “All Saints Day” in church, reading out the names of beloved family and friends, then the names of beautiful church members who had died. The influence of so many, now gone, was moving and inspiring, reminding me just how many people we carry with us, who help in our decisions, our actions.  It’s just another reason to live well, knowing that our children and their children will remember us, ahem, later.  What my father would have said in certain situations always makes me smile.  How Rachel Berg embraced life, how Nancy Markham Alberts uplifted a conversation, how strong my mother was in her dying, how fiercely Sherry Burton fought for justice—these people do deserve  to be called the overused awesome.  They prompt me to decent actions (at least).  My granddaughter is watching.


About Sally Hobart Alexander

Blinded at the age of twenty-six, I left California and elementary school teaching for life in Pittsburgh, Pa. There, I met my husband, got a Masters' degree in social work, had two kids, now 35 and 32, and became a writer. Surprisingly, the writing career led me full-circle to teaching, and I teach in Chatham University's M.F.A. program and lead two writing critique groups. Always, since the age of 26, I have traveled, not in the stereotypic darkness attributed to blindness, but a mist. My blog then, "traveling through the mist" will deal with issues in my culturally different life as a blind writer, teacher, speaker, and human being.
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