Post #16 March 26 — a special day for our family
In the midst of all the sorrow, it's comforting to see the first signs of spring and the buds on the tree outside my office window.
On a March 26, fifteen or 16 years ago, Lizzie and I were home alone at our house in New Paltz while Sue was out at an evening class. Lizzie, who was five or six years old, was then mourning the loss of her second beta fish, appropriately named Sparkly 2. She was so bereft that I desperately had to come up with something, not only to cheer her up but also to somehow move her off the fright over death that I knew troubled me so deeply, even as a child.
"I know what we can do," I suggested, "let's create a religion where everyone and everything that dies is reincarnated." She brightened up immediately.
"What should we call our religion?" I asked her.
Immediate, she responded, "Dellalah."
We then worked out a set of, well, commandments, for our new religion, and these were its tenets:
* The religion only lasts one day a year, on March 26.
* It has a song, "The Dellalah song." The song has no specific lyrics. To any tune you want, real or invented, you make up your own lyrics, as long as you use the word Dellalah several times, and this is the key, you mention the names of anyone or anything you know who died in the past year.
* Those whose names are mentioned are then reincarnated, as what, who knows.
* Before singing the song, you light a single candle and let it burn.
* When you are done singing you eat pancakes.
Imagine Sue's surprise when she came home to learn that her husband and daughter had created a whole new religion in her absence. Imagine our surprise that every year since then, with maybe the exception of one or two, we have celebrated Dellalah on March 26. Some years after the deaths of a parent or beloved pet, it has been quite moving.
So tonight we will remember the names of those who were dear to us who we lost, but I think we will add a new commandment, to have thoughts we may lose in the immediate future.
Then we will have pancakes.
On a March 26, fifteen or 16 years ago, Lizzie and I were home alone at our house in New Paltz while Sue was out at an evening class. Lizzie, who was five or six years old, was then mourning the loss of her second beta fish, appropriately named Sparkly 2. She was so bereft that I desperately had to come up with something, not only to cheer her up but also to somehow move her off the fright over death that I knew troubled me so deeply, even as a child.
"I know what we can do," I suggested, "let's create a religion where everyone and everything that dies is reincarnated." She brightened up immediately.
"What should we call our religion?" I asked her.
Immediate, she responded, "Dellalah."
We then worked out a set of, well, commandments, for our new religion, and these were its tenets:
* The religion only lasts one day a year, on March 26.
* It has a song, "The Dellalah song." The song has no specific lyrics. To any tune you want, real or invented, you make up your own lyrics, as long as you use the word Dellalah several times, and this is the key, you mention the names of anyone or anything you know who died in the past year.
* Those whose names are mentioned are then reincarnated, as what, who knows.
* Before singing the song, you light a single candle and let it burn.
* When you are done singing you eat pancakes.
Imagine Sue's surprise when she came home to learn that her husband and daughter had created a whole new religion in her absence. Imagine our surprise that every year since then, with maybe the exception of one or two, we have celebrated Dellalah on March 26. Some years after the deaths of a parent or beloved pet, it has been quite moving.
So tonight we will remember the names of those who were dear to us who we lost, but I think we will add a new commandment, to have thoughts we may lose in the immediate future.
Then we will have pancakes.
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