I know I’m a little late on The Day of the Dead posts, but I was on vacation and missed it, well I missed it here in the blog, but in real life I was with family in El Paso, Texas where I went to a Day of the Dead celebration. It was really cool because there was music, food, and lots of drinks.

One of the things that really struck me about the whole thing were the altars that were set up for the family members and friends that had passed on. The altars had pictures of the people who had died along with their favorite foods and things that meant something to them in life. One of the altars that I stood in front of was of an older woman who reminded me of my own grandmother. As I stood there looking at the pictures and the many things that she enjoyed while living I thought about my own grandmother. I watched the candle flame dance in the slight breeze and the memories came flooding back to me.

I have many great memories of my grandmother, but the most vivid and most magical happened when I was about ten years old. I remember dancing a waltz with my grandmother at my uncle's wedding. I didn't really know how to dance, especially a waltz, but even so, it felt as if we were gliding across the floor dancing a magical dance of gypsies and paupers. In my mind, I don't remember anyone else dancing, I don't even remember anyone else being there – it was as if everyone else had faded away and we were the only ones dancing, lost in the music and our own memories of the past. As we twirled across the floor, it was as if we stepped through the veil of time - In my eyes she became the beautiful young woman from old family pictures, that danced with my grandfather under the stars in a street carnival years before I was born. I never felt so happy and at peace as I did at that moment.

I remember years later sitting in the hospital waiting room when they called a "Code Blue" Hearing the voice overhead and watching the nurses run down the hall, somehow, I knew that the call was for my grandmother. I remember how I cried like a little boy when the doctor called the family into a room and told us that they were trying their best to save her, but that they were losing her. He said that they would continue to try and bring her back as long as the family wanted him to. I remember the look on my grandfather's face as he fell to the ground crying telling the doctor to let her go and let her be in peace. My aunt yelled, "No!" and began to cry uncontrollably.

Watching my aunt cry somehow made it all so real for me - this was it. My grandma was about to die and there was nothing anyone could do about it. I would never talk to her again. I would never go to her house and smell all the great cooking that I grew up with. I would never hear her say how much I had grown or how proud she was of me for whatever little accomplishment I made. I would never get to tell her how much she meant to me and how much I loved her and wished that I hadn't taken for granted the fact that I thought she would always be there for me.

Tears were running down my face and I felt like I wanted to lash out and hit something - and then I heard it. I heard music that started in the back of my mind, slowly and quietly growing louder the more I thought about it. It was the music of a waltz danced a long time ago. That memory comforted me. I felt that this was my sign that she would always be there for me. In some strange way I felt happy and at peace like I did so many years ago dancing the magical dance of gypsies and paupers with my grandmother.