LAST NIGHT TWO KIDDIES in I'm-not-sure-what-they-were-supposed-to-be costumes knocked on my front door.
"Trick or treat," they said and stood there expectantly.
Oh God. Do we do this now? I mentally searched my cupboard for something appropriately sweet that I could give them. I didn't think a half-eaten block of dark chocolate would really cut it.
"Um," I replied. "I don't really do Halloween. I'm a grown-up, I'm sorry, I don't have any lollies."
The children stood there.
"Sorry," I offered, and gently shut the door. To my relief, no trick was later perpetrated upon my house.
Historically related to Halloween, Day of the Dead, held today in Mexico, is less about lollies and more about the dead. Family and friends gather in cemeteries to bring offerings and share remembrances of those who have died. Street parties with an abundance of flowers and skeletons are part of the celebrations.
To our Australian ears the idea of a party in a graveyard sounds a bit macabre. Even a little bit going-through-a-teenage-gothic-phase. Our dead are buried or cremated, there's a funeral with sandwiches, and that's about it.
There's no yearly reminiscence; no street party for the departed.
Perhaps, as a consequence, death is hard to talk about in this land of youth and sunshine. When you hear someone's mum has died, you offer an awkward, "I'm sorry. If there's anything I can do..."
And those who have lost a loved one are expected to make it through the funeral and then, stoically just get over it. When the anniversary of the death rolls around, they may be falling in a heap, the pain and loss still simmering, but the world has moved on, and they are alone.
Death, as they say, is a natural part of life. Everything alive must die. Most of us learn about death through the family pet. All of us will experience the loss of a parent. All of us will experience the moment when we are at last faced with our own mortality. Some of us sooner than others.
In nature, death is a part of renewal. A magpie shuffles off this mortal coil and a team of ants work to take home the flesh to feed their young ones. Flies lay their eggs so that their offspring may grow strong on the liquefying bird. Bacteria multiply and reduce the carcass to dust.
In ecosystems there are always the specialists who feed on death. The fungus, the worms, the insects. The role they play is as important as any proud lion in keeping the balance of nature.
I cultivate a team of death dealers in my backyard. My food scraps go into the worm bin, where they are turned to compost, which nourishes my vegetable patch. My current crop of broad beans and onions are the fruits of uneaten dinners and mouldering fridge lurkers.
When we go to meet our maker, surely we will be staring into the face of a worm (if they had faces). The fruits and vegetables that made me grow were made possible by the action of worms. Not because they wished to help a carrot grow and certainly not because they wished a human to grow, simply because they wished to grow themselves. Nature is a selfish force.
Death, then, is something to be celebrated. It is part of the amazing regenerative process that sustains us all. The loss of one life makes possible the lives of others.
Far from being something hidden and embarrassing for Australian culture it should be, as with the Mexicans, celebrated in the streets. Praise to the ants and the worms and the slimy things that crawl. Let's have a party in their honour.
Let us dress the kids in costumes of detritus feeders. Let's take it to the streets and remember that death nourishes us. Let's open the cemeteries and fill them with life. Let us remember our dead parents and fallen friends. Let us cry and laugh and tell tales of the times we had. Let death come out from the shadows and be acknowledged for what it is.
When I die, bury me in the vegie patch. Let the next year's crop of pumpkins be the best ever. Have a pumpkin party in my honour.
