Dancing for the Dead

Her favourite flower was the common Marigold. Her friends often made fun of her because of it, asking why she didn’t like something more exotic like orchids, but she didn’t care. Marigolds held a magic for her, one she was unable to explain to anyone else.

She could remember the first time she had seen their beautiful, sunny faces; it was in the garden with her best friend and her Abuela. They had been tasked with the delightful chore of picking the corn and tomatoes for supper. She had been around 8 years old at the time and thought it was a very, very serious chore. She always wanted to pick the perfect fruit for dinner. Her friend was laughing and teased her about being overly particular with the chore.

Spying the orange blossoms, she looked up, “Why are these flowers in the vegetable garden, Abuela? I thought only food grew in this area.” “Come. Sit here, mi niña.” She patted the ground beside her, “Let me tell you about our friend, the lovely marigold flower.” Obediently the girl sat beside her grandmother and waited expectantly. Grandma was the best storyteller she had ever heard.

“Our ancestors are the ones who knew the songs of the marigolds,” she began, “we have lost much of their medicines over time, as we do.” Abuela shook her head and settled into her storytelling posture. She described far away lands and magical times. How colonizers came and thought they were a talisman for safe travels. How the sunny blossoms were used from everything from medicine for nasty hiccups, to being struck by lightning, and even preventing the worms from eating the tomatoes. We scatter the Marigold heads during funeral rights to bless the dead and help ensure their safe passage to the afterworld. This is why, my dear, you see the marigold always near the cemeteries.

The girl listened carefully as her grandmother spoke, trying to commit everything she was being told to memory. It was important for her to remember the stories of her grandmother. She knew that she would grow to be the wise woman of their village and had been collecting the knowledge of the elders for as long as she could remember. Once she got home, she would have her mom help her write everything down in her book that she kept for that purpose.

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“Hurry up Sopheia, we’re already running late!!” Her roommate, Maria, tried to hurry her along, but she was busy in the garden; making sure the plants were happy before she took her leave. Everything seemed well and good; the soil looked healthy, and the water levels had been stable. She was very happy with the potential she saw in the new foliage. Quickly she scrawled a note to the housekeeper telling her how to take care of the garden and then grabbed her suitcase. They were heading out on a much-needed vacation. Having just graduated from college, it was time to relax for a while before they began working in the fall. The cab pulled up just as they rushed to the sidewalk, and Sopheia shot her friend a smug look. “Ha! I knew we would be on time!” She triumphed throwing her bags in the trunk and getting into the back seat. “Onward to Costa Rica!”

“Sopheia, I can’t believe we’re actually going to Costa Rica! And I can’t believe you plan to work while you are there! Aren’t you tired of working? Don’t you want to relax and enjoy the scenery, meet the locals, make foolish choices? Isn’t that the whole point of the post-graduation vacation?”

“I know Maria, but I couldn’t pass up this opportunity to work with the Shaman of this town. Abuela set it up before she passed that he would mentor me during the summer after graduation. It’s the whole reason we’re even able to go on this trip, remember, but I’m sure we will make the most of the two weeks we’ve got before I start. Don’t worry, there will be time for parties too.” They grinned at each other with excitement. This was going to be the best summer ever!

**********

It had been about five years since that fateful summer in Costa Rica. So much had transpired since then. Maria had gotten sick about 2 weeks into the trip. They had thought she had the flu, being afflicted first with shivers and then sweating profusely. After a couple of days of this, the symptoms disappeared, only to return a few days later. Sopheia was concerned for her friend, and so she asked the Shaman she would be studying under to come and see her. The Shaman immediately diagnosed Malaria and to Sopheia’s surprise recommended making her a tea using the bark from the cinchona tree and the blossoms of dwarf marigold plants that had been cultivated for that use.

Maria appeared to feel better almost immediately, but still, they decided it would be best for her to be taken to the city in order to be seen by a local physician. On the second day of the trip back into the city Maria began to shiver uncontrollably. No one knew what to do as they raced to get to the city and reach medical help. The day after they admitted her to the hospital in San Jose, Maria became unconscious and ceased responding to external stimuli, she was put on life support as they waited for her parents to arrive. Her funeral was held five days later.

The time that Sopheia spent with her friend in the hospital was transformative for her. The Shaman came each time Maria took a turn for the worse. He would bathe her and wash out her hair. Smooth lotion into her skin and apply an ointment to her dry, cracked lips. And each time before he left, he would place a marigold blossom on each of her closed eyelids. In this way, he honoured her and let her body know it was being cared for, while her spirit was trying to heal.

The last time he came was the same day they decided to take her off the life support. The ritual this time was different, it was no longer a healing ritual, and now became a dance for the dead. Sopheia had seen the dance when her Abuela passed a few years ago, and she had never thought to see it again. The dance was serene and nearly majestic. The old man flowed with the movements as he hummed the song and dressed her friend in oils and flowers. Finally, instead of placing the marigolds on her eyes, this time, he draped a wreath of them around her neck. Kissing her eyelids, he placed a penny on each and backed out of the room slowly, never turning his back on her friend.

Once outside in the hall he beckoned to Sopheia, and she did as he had done, kissing her friend and then backing out of the room so that her parents could stay with her for the last little while. Rejoining the Shaman in the hall, she asked him what the next step was. As he gathered his tools, he indicated she should follow him. He explained to her what he had done, and what they would do next. They prepared the gown Maria would be buried in and hosted a meal with a silent setting for her spirit to sit at. Preparations were made, and her friend’s journey to the afterlife was swift and peaceful.

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Sopheia had always known she would be a healer and wise-woman when she entered her crone years, but she didn’t realize until the death of her friend, was that the calling would come much younger for her. Watching the Shaman and his death dance, inspired her to begin her apprenticeship with him that same day. She was the one who prepared the rites for her friend when she passed. She held the hands of her parents, allowed them to cry and to rage. She sang, and she danced, and she cried for her friend. Her entire world changed that summer, and instead of going on to the job she had lined up in the fall, she decided to stay in Costa Rica; studying with the Shaman and learning everything she could about healing and walking a person through the life cycle.

Now, she prepared to take the knowledge she had accumulated back to her home. Where she would become the town’s youngest Shaman, and the very first Death Doula they had ever had. She took a deep breath as she closed the door to her apartment for the last time and walked away without looking back.