All Saints

Strangely enough, I come from a country where the day to honour dead people is important enough to get a bank holiday (which is today)… And is actually called “All Saints Day” (Toussaint) as if for one day, believers could forget about hell…

When I was a child, a few days before, my mum would go to clean the graves and buy dozens of flower pots to put on it. And we would all go to the cemetaries on that day to see the blossoming graves of people we’ve lost.



When I think about it, I actually hardly get the point…
To get a day off to visit bodies which stopped to breathe while we struggle so much to see people alive… Is the fact to go and see them once they are dead is supposed to make us feel better? Or remind us that we are just fools? Or for having to deal with the guilt to be still alive? (Tu parles !)

This year, someone really closed to me passed away.

And in spite of all the good reasons why I actually like that day: (yes, I love cemetaries; my favorite flower is the flower of the deads, a sort of chrysanthemums, called Tokyo (in French, don’t know in English); I love stones generally speaking, including gravestones; I love silence…), this year, I won’t walk across graves to find the ones of people I loved or was supposed to (almost all my grand-parents were dead before I was born, but I am still supposed to visit their graves). I won’t have the privilege this year to honour my deads in blossoming cemetaries… So blossoming that you have the impression sometimes to be in a flower shop (thank God, I am not allergic to pollen)…

And this year, it would have been the first time that I would have gone to see her “en sa dernière demeure…”

So for this…
And all that…
From the bottom of my heart which can still beat…

Amen