I Trail a Crowd: Connection with Ancestors

When I go to the grocery store

Snag a cart and push down the aisles

A crowd trails behind me

The whole way

Ancestors hover near my legs

Brushing softly like a cat

One touches my elbow protectively

Another the small of my back

Offering subtle guidance

They look with fervent love

And admiration at a small child

In my arms who only they can see

This is my Cherish, who is ever

With me, the child I once was

They long for their turn to cuddle her

Beyond the vague goodwill

Of kind strangers

Theirs is the keen interest

Of grandparents or childless aunts

Those who have a personal stake

In my wellbeing

With them I am weaving a braid of love

Like dancers around a maypole

As we thread in, out and around

Each other, our colored ribbons

Make a new pattern

Never before seen in quite

The same way

A beauty the world will never see again

May 2025

I am weaving a colorful braid of meaning and beauty together with my forebearers.

I've been thinking a lot about ancestors the past few months. And this is an especially appropriate season in which to do that, with this cluster of holidays and observances: not only Halloween, but All Saints and All Souls Days, Celtic Samhain, and especially Mexican Day of the Dead. In the U.S., we've come to associate Halloween with costumes, candy, and scary movies, mixing fun with horror and dread, but in cultures around the world, this time of year is more about fondly remembering, honoring, and renewing connections with departed ancestors.

In my family of origin, we adopted the typical Western attitude about our ancestors. Once the funeral was over, there was no further formal remembrance of them. We did not visit their graves, have any kind of ceremonies, or even talk about them as a family. For instance, after my grandfather died when I was twelve, I don't specifically remember my grandmother ever mentioning him to us again, even though we had all lived in the same house. The Western view seems to be that life is for the living, and that the dead are best forgotten and put behind us as quickly as possible.

But now, oddly, I've been visiting graveyards, hunting for the tombstones of ancestors and other departed relatives, starting with a set of possible great-great grandparents in Scotland last June and continuing through a tour of East Texas a week or two ago. I have visited eight cemeteries and located the grave markers of 26 relatives, including a 4th great-grandfather who lived from 1781-1863. Reaching out to these ancestors, showing respect to them, and imagining their love and interest in me and my life as their descendent has made me feel generally more supported, connected, and integrated.

In a time when so many of us feel isolated and alone or at least left to figure out the world and our lives on our own, this kind of ancestral connection can be both comforting and empowering.