Lighting candles for the dead
and the living
Where I’m from, where nearly eighty percent of the population is Catholic, lighting candles on your doorstep on the second of November is the norm. It’s meant to honor loved ones who passed, as well as illuminate the path of the poor souls stuck in purgatory.
My family isn’t Catholic though, so they find it slightly odd but mostly amusing that I participate in this tradition. I’m the only one who does it in our household, even though I don’t particularly subscribe to any religion.
“The dead are resting peacefully and won’t care about a candle,” they would reason.
The Boyfriend™, who was raised Catholic but has long since drifted from any religious beliefs, reacts the same way. His dad passed away long before we met (getting to know him is something I feel like I missed out on), and whenever I ask if he would like to visit his dad’s grave during special occasions, The Boyfriend™ would graciously decline.
“No, that’s okay. Dad’s not there,” he would say.
“Okay, let’s just light a candle,” I would offer.
Thankfully, he supports my candle-lighting efforts. He claims it’s because he wants to protect my whimsy, but sometimes I catch him hanging around the lighted candle until the wax has fully melted to the ground.
One candle for each life lost.
All of my hometown friends are Catholic. When we were kids, I learned from them that the first time you visit a church you haven’t been to before, you are granted one wish. You just have to buy a candle by the entrance and then light it at the stands near the altar.
For some reason, this sparked an urge within me to visit as many Catholic churches as I could. It’s like my little life side quest; I would aim to visit one cathedral every time I traveled somewhere new. The furthest from home I’ve been to and my most favorite so far is the Holy Trinity Church, also known as Sameba Cathedral.
I would always, always “collect” my wishes. All of which are reserved for the living.
One candle for each person I love.
My friends, like my family, find this slightly odd but mostly amusing. They think it’s extremely out of character since they view me as someone who disdains convention.
“What if God is receiving your wishes but denies them immediately because He doesn’t know you?” one of my best friends would joke.
I imagine God saying, “She doesn’t even go here!” and the thought makes me smile.
Truthfully, I also don’t know why I feel the need to light candles. Maybe it’s because my parents sent me to Catholic-centered schools, where most of my classmates would go to Mass inside the school grounds every first Friday of the month, while one or two other non-Catholics and I twiddled our thumbs waiting for them to come back to the classroom, feeling removed from something bigger. Maybe it’s because I like participating in an act that many generations before me have also performed. Or maybe it’s just because I’m prone to resorting to compulsions so that my anxieties don’t spill over. Perhaps it’s all of the above.
Whatever the reason is, I’ll continue lighting candles for as long as I can—ones for remembering and ones for wanting.
The last time I lit a candle was a few years ago. Technically it wasn't a good idea because open flames aren't allowed at the flat I live in, but the ex wanted to remember her dad, and I wanted to remember my grandparents.
And then our cat (now my cat) got singed a bit, and we never—I never did it again.
Maybe when I'm elsewhere.
Thank you for the honest take on the tradition. As a doubting Catholic, I'll continue the candlelighting and praying for my departed loved ones, not really for them but for myself. When a family gathers together to remember someone we have before is beneficial enough.