Thoughts about remembering someone’s death while wandering the streets of Rome.

It’s that time of year again: mind-blowing pumpkin flavors (Rum Chata pumpkin spice?), bloody rubber body parts and cheeky tombstones perched incongruously on suburban lawns, and the ubiquitous arrested development Adults who live through (and corrupt) their children. Sigh.

When I became a parent, I fought to love Halloween. My kids started talking about trick-or-treating groups on Labor Day (elementary school girls!) and it usually ended in tears and exclusion; Our 2-year-old walked out onto the street in an awful “passing-over” incident by his parents; and candy-filled pillowcases became the dominant currency for weeks because, unlike my mother, I didn’t send the bulk of their sugary spoils to a missionary priest in India every November (true story). It seems un-American to dislike this 12 billion dollars holiday. No matter what, I’ll be traveling to have fun and see our grandchildren celebrate this day and All Saints’ Day (two costumes!) their joy.

Since I have undertakers in my family tree and I’m Irish, I’m a little prone to the macabre. Disney’s first black and white cartoon as a kid Silly Symphony sherry’ Skeleton Dance kept us in stitches where resurrected skeletons frightened the skins of animals, twirled around, played each other’s spines like xylophones, and frolicked in graveyards. In cartoon history, this is considered a classic. Death is a rebellion! Americans were delighted in 1952 The Ed Sullivan Show Delta Rhythm Boys’ performance Dem Bones, African-American spirituality book inspired by Ezekiel. Somehow, the skeleton was cast as our scary but cheerful friend.

But now for those of us on the other side of 50, the bones have more meaning; they become less decoration, more souvenir mori Latin (Latin for “remember your death”).

On a recent pilgrimage to Rome that included a walking tour of the city, our guide frequently punctuated our brisk pace by pointing out various Latin and Italian signs placed on the ancient walls. I was surprised not only by the skillfully carved marble slab on a table. church It was erected in 1576 but the message is this: Hodie mihi cras tibi – “Today me, tomorrow you.” In fact, this was a speech for the purpose of giving alms to bury the abandoned dead; look closely, there is a slot for a Roman coin.

Unlike American skeletons, this Roman skeleton had wings. How fitting that this angelic skeleton should chill me in the most beautiful city in the world, in the midst of a week of majestic art, Church history, brave martyr stories, and literary conferences, followed by long, chatty lunches that serve as mere reminders of impermanence. of all. Just when we were having such a good time.

Poem by English Jesuit Victorian poet Gerard Manley Hopkins Spring and Autumn provides the same kind of whiplash; The poem’s gentle title, a delicate question about falling leaves to a young girl named Margaret, belies the harsh message she wishes to share. It starts so innocently:

Márgarét, are you sad?

Leaving over Goldengrove?

Really? Do you cry over falling leaves? Hopkins is forced to inform him that the leaves, like the winged angel, are the work of nature. souvenir morireminder of death. Where fun dies; This is Hopkins. Here is poor Margaret, lamenting the touching fall of the beautiful leaves to the ground, and here to tell her that her heart senses in a vague, nameless sadness, her soul feels it, “guesses” it – mourns her own inevitable death. . He’s one of those fluttering, falling leaves.

Neither mouth nor mind expressed

The ghost guessed what the heart heard:

This is the disaster that man was born for.

The person you mourn is Margaret.

A completely different poet New Yorker Author Dorothy Parker, famous for her sharp intelligence and books Death and Taxeslived and wrote with Carpe Diem soul – apparently not worried about eternal life. In fact, life’s endless parties have a boredom:

“Drink and dance, laugh and lie,
Love is stupefying until midnight,
Because we will die tomorrow!
(But unfortunately we never do this.)”

We never do, or so we think. A friend who has one foot in the Church is impressed by its many rituals and says, “I know I want a Catholic funeral.” Me too. Nothing can replace the Catholic Mass of Christian Burial with the Last Rite of Commendation and Commitment. (Staying in a state of grace by frequently receiving the sacraments is our best preparation for this.) As my funeral attendance became more frequent, I came to love these comforting words:

“Let us say goodbye to our sister before we part ways. Let our farewell express our love for him; May it ease our sadness and strengthen our hope. “One day, when the all-conquering love of Christ destroys even death, we will greet him with joy again.”

My indecisive Christian, a successful writer, likes to say, “Deadlines are your friend.” I’m not sure what will make him take his second step into the church, but there is a deadline. What’s waiting? Maybe our winged skeleton can help: “today me, tomorrow you.” Dorothy Parker is wrong: We are dying. Deadlines and skeletons are our friends. Let us hope that we are working to keep the blueprint of our life as it always is, ready to be delivered at any time.

Betsy Fentress is the co-author of the book. Walnuts: Recipes and History of American Hazelnuts, Almonds: Recipes, History, CultureAnd Bryant Family Vineyard Cookbook.. She and her husband, Sam, live in St. Louis, where they raised their six children. He lives in St. Louis. He writes and co-hosts a podcast for The Catholic Association.