November 1. All Saints Day. The Day of the Dead. At my boys’ school, where Spanish is part of the curriculum, we bring in pictures and other offerings for a day of the dead altar. When I hunt around for photos to bring in I cannot breathe. I think about what it would be like to hang out with my cousin as adults, if she had lived that long. What kind of relationship I would have had with my grandfathers, who I never had the chance to know. So many things, every day, remind me of my grandmother – pretty much every time I see the color purple I think of her. I sometimes still refer to our cats, inadvertently, by the names of our cats who are no longer with us; still here in spirit. I think about those added to our family’s ‘list’ since last year. Another grandparent. A schoolmate of my children’s. A beloved cat. Alexi’s stepfather’s mother. This day I’m reminded of everyone I’ve been privileged to know who is no longer with us. I give thanks for their role on this earth, in my life. I share stories with my family so they'll know, so they might remember, to remind myself. We remember.