Remembering Day of the Dead

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A year ago, I left my husband with the caregiver and went to Oaxaca, Mexico for Day of the Dead with friends and family. We were a convivial group of nine, ranging in age from 26 to 87. There were travel mishaps, missed connections, long periods of being stranded at airports, and a six hour bus ride from Mexico City to Oaxaca for me and my niece, Kellie. But we all made it and for four glorious days, we explored the ruins of Monte Alban, saw black pottery, clay figures and wood carvings being made, paid homage to altars in cemeteries, paraded with comparsas in neighboring villages, and shopped the marketplace. We ate lots of mole and bought more to bring home. Four days of revelry, lovely conversations and good company did wonders for my soul and reminded me that disability does not have to be the main focus of my life.

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