Walking Each Other Home

Cultural Practices at End of Life

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Walking Each Other Home
Cultural Practices at End of Life

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Published in conjunction with the exhibition at Arizona State Museum
September 2022 to February 2023.

Walking Each Other Home

Cultural Practices at End of Life

Produced by the Southwest Folklife Alliance with

Arizona State Museum, University of Arizona
Tucson, Arizona
© 2023 The Arizona Board of Regents

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system,
or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or
otherwise—except as permitted under Section 107 or 108 of the United States Copyright Act—
without the written permission of the Southwest Folklife Alliance and Arizona State Museum,
University of Arizona.
CONTENTS

3 Introduction

4 At Home
6 Home Altars to the Antepasados (Ancestors)
8 End-of-Life Home Caregivers
16 Recipes for a Good Death

18 In Community
19 Cultural Practices at End of Life

24 Memorialization
25 Ghost Bikes
27 Migrant Crosses
36 Spaces for Grief
38 All Souls Procession
42 Children and Grief

48 In Memory
50 Acknowledgments
51 Photography Credits

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INTRODUCTION
Stories and traditions shared here were documented in Southern Arizona as part
of the Southwest Folklife Alliance’s End of Life: Continuum project, supported by
the Arizona End of Life Care Partnership with funds from the David and Lura Lovell
Foundation. The material was presented in an exhibit of videos, images, stories,
installations, and interactions at the Arizona State Museum in Tucson, September
2022-February 2023.

At once solo and communal, death, dying, mourning, and honoring are part of the
circle of life. With what practices, traditions, adages, and rituals do we address end-of-
life planning and preparation, loss, and grief? How do we talk about these moments
and make space for the challenges they bring with practicality and compassion?

These ways of being, doing, and yes, ending, too, are at once nuanced, beautiful, and
distinct. They are part of our folklife. Looking closely at them can help us understand
both ourselves and one another, and bring dignity to an event we will all, at some
point, experience.

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AT HOME
The home is the inner sanctuary of life and, in many
cultures, also the place of death. The living room,
bedroom, and kitchen offer powerful opportunities for
remembering those we’ve lost, honoring caregivers,
and preparing and planning for the end of life.

We’re all just walking each other home.

Ram Dass

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HOME ALTARS TO THE ANTEPASADOS
(ANCESTORS)
Home altars are one of most celebrated features of the Mexican and Latin American
observance on November 2 of Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead). The altar bridges
the world of the living and that of the dead via photographs of those who have passed
on, candles, flowers, favorite foods of those being remembered, and other items to
honor the ancestors. Creating and maintaining an altar is one way to acknowledge that
death is truly the other side of life. Within that truth, there is room for beauty, sensory
experiences, and remembrance.

Altar makers Ofelia Esparza and Rosanna Esparza Ahrens, of East Los Angeles, created an altar in
collaboration with the public during the 2019 Tucson Meet Yourself folklife festival.

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for reflection...
In what ways do you honor your What items would you want people to
ancestors or family members and place on an altar to remember you?
friends who have died?
Write or draw a picture of your items
How does remembering the dead in the book.
help you prepare for the inevitability
of death?

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END-OF-LIFE HOME CAREGIVERS
It requires character to do this kind of job.
Mathurin “Math” Maoundonodji
End-of-life home caregiver

End-of-life caregivers perform intimate ethnographic study carried out by five

and vital tasks for the dying, bringing ethnographers through the Southwest
dignity to the death process and Folklife Alliance’s Continuum: End-of-Life
companionship to those who are program. The project considered end-
experiencing it. But these caregivers of-life home caregivers in the context
often go underappreciated and, if of “occupational folklife,” or the culture
working for hire, underpaid. End-of-life of work. All caregivers were based in
caregivers might be family members, Tucson, Arizona at the time.
paid nurses, home health aides, hospice
workers, or others. Ethnography is a method of
documenting culture that teaches us to
It is often said that end-of-life caregivers look into others’ experiences, to learn
have a certain disposition, a selflessness empathy at the most intimate levels of
that enables them to show up for others. everyday life—and, in this case, death,
This may be true, but when our own too. Conversations between caregivers
fears of death and dying lead us to see and ethnographers took place during
caregivers as “saintly,” we forget that the pandemic, often over Zoom and later
they, too, are human beings with their in person. The pairs created meaningful
own needs for rest, care, witness, and relationships, and their conversations
fair compensation. not only help us “see” the work of
caregivers but also contribute to the
The end-of-life home caregivers pictured field of folklife ethnography, making
here were participants in a yearlong space for shared grief and prioritizing a
commitment to trust and authenticity.

Listen to interviews with the caregivers:

https://southwestfolklife.org/lives-of-end-of-life-caregivers/

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Mathurin “Math” Maoundonodji
as told to Charlie Buck

My first job in this country was working higher—it’s a job that requires a lot of
at a hotel, then I [transitioned] into a responsibility. Better pay would bring
restaurant, then I got a job as a caregiver. better service and would attract better
Caregiving paid the same as restaurant people to the job. If it continues as it is,
work. I had to work many hours to make there will be a shortage of caregivers. It is
something because wages were not high. not safe—one caregiver will take care of
The care agency paid $8 an hour, which many clients.
went up to $10.
If you respect people’s dignity, you cannot
Most of the people who work in the leave people without proper care. It
caregiving industry are refugees and requires character to do this kind of job.
immigrants. It doesn’t require so Respect for the person you are serving is
many language skills, but the pay is very important.
not reasonable. The rates should be
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Deborah Young
as told to Amalia Mora

You have to wash the body down before look pretty. I’m like, “This is you.” You
they come pick it up. You have to wash it know, I was crying while I was doing
down, tag the toe, you got to close their it and I’m like, “This is you. You always
eyes. I think that’s the hardest part for look nice. I’m not gonna let you go out
me—to close their eyes. I just washed up no way else.
and changed her, you know, made her

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Fernando Ochoa
as told to Kathleen Dreier

When I was caring for my mother, I said, commitment, my sense of responsibility.

“I’m doing this not for me, even though it It was a huge learning process. You really
serves me to do what I’m doing for you. don’t think of yourself as a caregiver.
I’m doing this because I love you.” There’s There’s a constant mode of concern for
an extreme sense of gratitude, a satisfying that other individual. It toughens you
feeling being there for another human up a bit, you know. Because there’s some
being, and someone as special and as delicate territory in that level of intimacy.
close as a relative. It redefined my sense of

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Yaritza Vargas
as told to Kate DeShiell

What can we do first, before more to the patient.” You can’t teach patient
invasive methods are used? Even small care or how to make patients feel valued.
things can make a big difference in pain People either have those soft skills or
management, like adjusting a pillow or they don’t. You can’t teach teamwork,
moving the patient’s position. These kinds leadership, or empathy. I don’t know if
of small things can put patients into a there is such a thing as a good death.
better state of mind. They let patients But when clients are ready for death, it
know that you care about them and want can be good.
them to feel better. They are a “promise

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Nancy Giesen
as told to Suzanne Morrison

One of my favorite quotes is from Ram things to laugh about. I have a patient
Dass: “We’re all just walking each other who speaks mostly Spanish. He asked me
home.” I want to tattoo this across my what Spanish words I knew, and I told
body. With all my people, I inhabit the him “tenedor,” which means fork. He just
“We’re here now” space with them. I’ll started belly laughing. Of all the things I
have long conversations with them, could have said. It was just one of those
even if they can’t talk. We can find funny days. We can use humor if it’s there.

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 HOSPICE AND PALLIATIVE CARE:
WHAT’S THE DIFFERENCE?
Hospice care is provided to patients with a life expectancy of six months or
less who are no longer receiving any active or curative treatment of their
underlying life-limiting illness.

Palliative care is given to any patient with a serious illness, no matter their
prognosis or life expectancy. It is often given along with other therapies.
There is no need to delay palliative care. It can be given at any time to
benefit patients.
Yu, Qi T., and Paul E. Stander. August 2016. Differentiating Palliative Care and Hospice Care.
Phoenix: Banner University Medical Center, University of Arizona.

for reflection...
What kind of care do you want at the end of your life?

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RECIPES FOR A GOOD DEATH

What is a “good death”? Across many cultures, we share food to

come together, mourn, and remember
First posited by the French historian those we’ve lost. Comfort foods provide
Philippe Ariès and later advanced by us solace, and special recipes can help
the psychiatrist and physician Elisabeth us in times of grief. For many, kitchens—
Kübler-Ross, the notion of a “good indoors or outdoors—are the heart of
death” has become a main tenet of the this sharing, a hearth where we gather
modern hospice movement, bringing to soothe one another through shared
concepts such as dignity, peacefulness, meals and stories.
awareness, and acceptance to death
and dying. But the notion of a “good The kitchen table is also often a safe
death” is also complex. What might be place to have difficult conversations
“good” for you might be less good for about death and dying. International
another. Perceptions of “goodness” are movements, such as Death Café and
often intertwined with religious and Death Over Dinner, have developed
cultural beliefs, for better or worse. facilitation guides that anyone can use
Does a “good death” imply there is to create safe spaces for remembering
such a thing as a “bad death”? What those we have lost and for thinking
are the cultural beliefs at work when it deeply about how to plan for our own
comes to preparing for, evaluating, and death. Favorite dishes and comfort foods
experiencing death? can help us feel more relaxed to discuss
end-of-life planning and preparation,
cultural rituals, and preferences for our
own deaths.

for reflection...
What does the notion of a “good death” mean to you?

What kind of care do you want at the end of your life?

What matters to me at the end of life is …

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for reflection...
Think about a favorite dish of someone special to you who has passed on.

When did you first have this food/dish?

Who prepared it?

What memories do you associate with this dish?

Is there anything special about the ingredients or the way it is prepared?

When do you have this food/dish now?

What emotions surface for you when you think about this dish or eat it?

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IN COMMUNITY

End-of-life care, preparation and planning, and memorialization reach

beyond the home and into the community. We come together within
our cultural and social communities to mourn and remember, and our
traditions and beliefs inform how we carry out end-of-life rituals and
preparations. We create visible markers to remember those we’ve lost
and acknowledge their presence to the wider world. While grief can
feel interminably solitary, it is a sensation we all share. Making space
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for grief in public life shapes our collective memory of loss, making
possible a new kind of living.
CULTURAL PRACTICES AT END OF LIFE
How we approach death and dying is often ingrained in our cultural practices and
traditions. Understanding these differences is important for healthcare workers,
clergy, and institutions who work with the dying, their families, and communities—
and for all of us as compassionate community members. We can better support those
facing the end of life and the bereaved when we respect their wishes and traditions.

As part of its Continuum: End of Life program, the Southwest Folklife Alliance
facilitated a series of gatherings in four cultural communities in southern Arizona.
Guided by local hosts, the gatherings included a meal, facilitated conversation, and
learning exchanges about end-of-life practices, rituals, and traditions. Videos featuring
key community members illuminated some of the practices and traditions shared.

Watch videos featuring perspectives from the four communities here.

https://southwestfolklife.org/videos-end-of-life-cultural-practices-in-
southern-arizona/

for reflection...
What are your cultural traditions around death and dying?

What conversations have you had with members of your family or

community about your own wishes for the end of your life?

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A UNIFYING FORCE
END-OF-LIFE PRACTICES IN TUCSON’S JEWISH COMMUNITY

The Rabbis were brilliant. They offered us ways in which we could

deeply be in our grief, be supported in our grief, particularly through the
mourning period of the first week of shiva, the seven days. That is a long-
standing, beautiful tradition that … normalizes this experience of grief.

Sandra Wortzel, Rabbinic pastor

Portraits of Holocaust survivors from Southern Arizona are shared at the Tucson
Jewish Museum and Holocaust Center, which offers a place for collective mourning
and remembrance. Remembering those who came before is an essential part of
Jewish life.

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DEATH IS A DOOR WE MUST WALK THROUGH
END-OF-LIFE PRACTICES IN TUCSON’S MUSLIM COMMUNITY

A Muslim will always have in the back of his mind that death is
coming, and the preparation for life after is something you do on
daily basis.
Lynn Hourani, Muslim Community Alliance

Women pray at the Islamic Center of Tucson, which provides an important site
for community mourning and prayer for Muslims. In Islam, preparing for death
through actions such as prayer, eating well, reading the Quran, fasting, and going for
pilgrimage are part of nurturing a spiritual self and beneficial for the “life after.”

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LET THEM GRIEVE
END-OF-LIFE PRACTICES IN TUCSON’S LGBTQI COMMUNITY

We have all these people internalizing all this grief and all this
sadness … that they mask. Because we’re gay we’re supposed to be
happy all the time. And in fact, there’s this whole group of people
that are walking around with all this grief that’s bottled up inside.
Abraham Varelas, family planning specialist

For lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender people, rituals and practices around death
and dying can be tarnished by the same stigmas and discrimination that happen in
daily life. Making space with friends and new families to plan for death, dying, and
end-of-life rituals can be both rewarding and essential for LGBTQI people. The AIDS
Memorial Quilt—displayed here on the grounds of the annual Tucson Meet Yourself
Folklife Festival—offers a way for people to remember those who have died from HIV/
AIDS and creates space for mourning rituals and community support.
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AFTER DINNER, WALK 100 STEPS
PRACTICES FOR HEALTH AND LONGEVITY IN TUCSON’S
CHINESE COMMUNITY

We didn’t really like to talk about this stuff in the family. Elderly see
it as taboo that you don’t talk about death.

Steve Liu, HanLing Acupuncture Healing Center

End-of-life practices in Tucson’s Chinese community focus primarily on health

and longevity. Keeping the body nimble and the mind focused and still—through
activities like tai chi and mah-jongg and healing practices like acupuncture—are
pillars of wellness and a long life. Tucson’s Chinese Cultural Center hosts the annual
festival of Ching Ming, in which people visit the graves of family members to offer
food and pay respect, as in China.

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MEMORIALIZATION
Losing a loved one may be one of the most painful losses we
can endure. Grief can make us feel adrift and alone. Public
markers to memorialize the end of someone’s life can help us
to not only remember those we’ve lost but also make visible
the fact that they were once here. Tangible guideposts like
crosses, shrines, vigils, or ghost bikes serve as decorative
symbols of comfort to support the grieving process. These
expressions of creativity—often very personal—become
community cultural comforts, symbolic adornment that
speaks to our collective experience of loss.

GHOST BIKES
Ghost bikes are the international cycling community’s somber reminder of how
vulnerable cyclists are—they can die when hit by passing vehicles. You may have
seen one like this around town. Painted white and often decorated with flowers and
nameplates, ghost bikes reflect a collective expression of mourning and memorial.
In Tucson, these public memorials emerged in 2008. Both folk art and community
placemaking, ghost bikes are an important—and unfortunately, too common—part
of the city’s cultural landscape.

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REMEMBERING MIGRANTS’ LIVES

Since 1998, over 8,000 migrants have been found dead on the U.S. southern border,
according to the U.S. Border Patrol. Alvaro Enciso, a Colombian-born artist living
in Tucson, volunteers with the Tucson Samaritans, leaving water in remote parts
of the Sonoran Desert to assist passing migrants. Since 2013, Enciso has planted
over 1,200 crosses, marking sites where migrants have died in the desert. He makes
each cross out of wood and decorates it with a red dot, the symbol for a lost life on
Humane Borders maps, as well as a scrap of something left behind by migrants, such
a bottle top or an aluminum can. Enciso says his art “brings attention to the nearly
4,000 people who have died in Southern Arizona while crossing the desert to find
somewhere in the U.S. a piece of the American dream.”

Cross for missing migrant, from “Donde mueren los sueños” (Where Dreams Die),
Alvaro Enciso, 2022

for reflection...
What are ways that you honor and memorialize those who have
passed on?

Are these practices you do alone? With family? Or in a larger

community context?

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In 1783 Antonio Reyes, Bishop of Sonora, complained about the popular custom of
placing a cross beside the road wherever a traveler had been killed by the Apaches. This,
he argued, led to profanation of the holy symbol of the cross, and was a chilling reminder
of the stark realities of travel on the frontier. Over two centuries later, the crosses remain,
although the automobile has replaced the Apaches as the major cause of death.

The original purpose of the crosses was simple: they showed where someone died
suddenly and without the preparation afforded by the Catholic Church, and passers-by
could respond to their unspoken plea and pray for that person’s soul. Such interactive
sites had been part of the roadside since the arrival of the Spaniards in Mexico. In fact,
they might be much older.
Jim Griffith

Griffith, Jim. 2015. “Death Markers in the Desert.” In Continuum: Multicultural Practices in Grief and End
of Life. Tucson: Southwest Folklife Alliance.
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On January 8, 2011, at a Congress on Your Corner event in the parking lot of a Tucson
Safeway store, a gunman shot and killed six people and injured 13 others, including
U.S. Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords.

In the aftermath of the shooting, Tucsonans created a spontaneous memorial of grief

and remembrance on the lawn of the University Medical Center, where Giffords was
taken for treatment. People left cards, flowers, candles, stuffed animals, balloons, and
signs; and violinists, drummers, and mariachis played music to remember those who
had been killed and to cheer on Giffords during her recovery. Many of the items were
later preserved and archived.

Giffords survived the shooting, resigned from Congress, and formed GIFFORDS, an
organization using political, legal, and policy expertise to advocate for gun safety.
A permanent memorial to those killed on January 8 was dedicated in 2021 on the
grounds of the historic Pima County Courthouse in downtown Tucson.

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September 29, 2015. Diana Valenzuela, center, honors her father, Carlos Figueroa,
who was beaten to death in 2003 while living on the streets. After her father’s
death, Valenzuela formed the Carlos G. Figueroa Foundation in her father’s name to
remember homeless people who’ve died on the streets of Tucson.

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El Tiradito is a public shrine located in Barrio Viejo, one of Tucson’s oldest
neighborhoods. Originally dedicated as the “shrine of the sinner,” the result of a family
love triangle gone bad, it is now a popular urban shrine or altar. People regularly
leave folded-up slips of paper bearing prayers in the shrine’s adobe wall along with
candles to honor those they’ve lost.

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During the Covid-19 pandemic, at-home, outdoor memorials became one way to
collectively grieve the loss of a loved one, as formal funeral services were generally
suspended. After Jennifer Coughlan, a compassionate nurse, dancer, and circus artist
in Tucson, died of breast cancer in May 2021, her family and friends gathered in
the yard of the home she shared with her partner to remember, honor, grieve, and
celebrate her with words, singing, and an on-site memorial.

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Concern for individual and public health
during the pandemic forced rituals of
mourning and remembrance into virtual
spaces. Livestream memorials and funerals
helped people gather on screen to
remember lost loved ones. In Tucson, an
October 2020 memorial held in person and
online honored medical professionals and
health workers who lost their lives or were
impacted by the pandemic.

At the memorial, Brad Dreifuss, an

emergency physician and public health
specialist in Tucson, expressed the impact
of the Covid-19 pandemic on medical
professionals. Dreifuss formed HCW Hosted, A boy looked at the backdrop used
a non-profit organization that provides during a livestream memorial broadcast.
no-cost housing to medical professionals so The masks pictured were used
they would not place their families at risk. repeatedly by one ER nurse who did
At the time of this memorial, Dr. Dreifuss not have access to enough personal
had been living apart from his wife and protective equipment (PPE).
daughter for six months.

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 After losing her brother to
cancer, this woman had his
handwriting tattooed on
her forearm.

Tattoo, car decal and t-shirt memorials are popular ways of

remembering the dead. While tattooing is not new, now tattoo
seekers occasionally mix the cremains themselves with the tattoo
ink, literally carrying the dead around on their bodies. Car decal
and t-shirt memorials, like tattoos, allow mourners to express their
grief without interrupting the social fabric of everyday life.

Candi K. Cann, author of Virtual Afterlives:

Grieving the Dead in the Twenty-first Century

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This tattoo of a handprint (to scale) honors A tattoo honoring a child who passed.
the loss of its bearer’s nephew.

I do memorial tattoos at least 10 times a month. It’s common. A lot

of times people will want a tattoo of the handwriting of the person
they lost. If their grandma gave them a birthday card, for example,
they might want the quote or saying written inside. It’s about
remembering specific moments in time. For me, it’s really powerful
to do these kinds of tattoos for clients. Tattooing is really soulful,
and the connection is that much deeper when someone is using ink
to memorialize a loved one.

Marcella Watson, tattoo artist

Church Ink Tattoo Parlor
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SPACES FOR GRIEF
Grief is nothing to be ashamed of; it is a normal response to loss. Resources in our
community can support you in times of grief—bereavement counselors, doulas,
clergy, and support groups can offer both solace and practical help. Events like
Tucson’s annual All Souls Procession provide spaces for collective mourning and
celebration. Making space for grief within public life invites us to embrace this most
basic fact of living—death happens. We are allowed to mourn.

In grief, you’re so very fragile—it’s almost like you’ve been skinned.

Many back away from it. But when you move through or with grief,
it’s a teacher. The beauty of the community that rises up to greet
you—a great mercy. But you do need to give yourself over.

Adriene Jenik, death doula

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End-of-life doula Adriene Jenik meets regularly with her doulee to check in on her progress
attending to legal documents, make her aware of new resources, and revisit her death plan.
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ALL SOULS PROCESSION
The All Souls Procession offers Tucsonans and visitors a way to collectively process
and express grief in public. In 1990, artist Susan Johnson created a celebratory
procession in downtown Tucson to memorialize her father after his death. Today the
event is produced by Many Mouths One Stomach, a collective of artists, teachers, and
community activists who come together with the intent to create, inspire, manifest,
and perpetuate modern “festal culture.” It brings nearly 150,000 people to participate
in a two-mile, human-powered procession through Tucson’s west-side neighborhoods
and along the Santa Cruz River.

While many participants bring practices from Día de los Muertos, the event is
radically inclusive in its embrace of all cultures and all traditions. To honor the dead
and celebrate life, people dress in elaborate or simple costumes, carry photographs
or banners of their lost loved ones, and play music. Community members can place
prayers and mementos in the memorial urn, which is set on fire during the “ceremony
of care” at the end of the night.

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Incredibly moving; the sight of everyone’s messages being released
by fire to the Universe makes me fall in love with life all over again.
Christine Scheer

Right after I put a letter to my brother in the urn, I turned around,

and a photo of him was being projected onto a screen nearby. It
was surreal. He died unexpectedly, so I didn’t have a chance to say
goodbye. Until last night.
Daniel Riley

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After the murder of George Floyd in May 2020, hundreds of thousands of
people across the globe took to the streets to protest police brutality and its
disproportionate impact on Black Americans. In Tucson, some 600 people attended
a candlelight vigil for Floyd organized by young Black leaders at the Dunbar Pavilion.
This public mourning and outcry illustrates the many forms grief can take in the
public arena—from public vigils to loud protests to tireless political action—and how
it can fuel demands for change.

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41
CHILDREN AND GRIEF
When children experience the death of someone important, it can be difficult to
know how best to explain the loss. Children react differently than adults to grief, and
developmental age plays a factor in how a child might respond. Children should not
be forced to attend funerals or ceremonies, but finding alternative ways to remember
the deceased person is important. Making scrapbooks, looking at photographs,
lighting a candle, or telling stories can offer children solace. Children should be
given permission to express grief and to mourn in their own individual ways. Finding
support groups or professional counseling services can be tremendously helpful for
both children and the adults supporting them.

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Children are encouraged to express their grief and remembrance of siblings,
parents, or other family members lost to homicide at the annual National Day
of Remembrance held by homicide survivors’ advocacy organizations across the
country every September. In 2020, Tucson’s Homicide Survivors, Inc., organized the
remembrance day at MSA Annex, allowing children and family members to gather,
share stories, and publicly grieve.

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 My father, Carlon Edward Dreier, a.k.a. “Bud,” served in
World War II as a mechanic and worked as a welder all his
life. On Labor Day weekend 2012, I traveled with my son,
Logan, then 16, to Wisconsin to see him. Dad was suffering
from advanced dementia by then, and I wanted Logan to
see his grandpa one more time. It took two hours into our
visit before my dad recognized Logan, but he recognized
me right away. When he saw me with my camera, he did
what he often did to pose—stuck out his tongue as a joke.
My dad was particular about personal grooming, and my
brother Denny helped him keep it up during the years of
his decline.

Logan was patient throughout the visit, occupying himself

in his sketchbook when my dad was mentally distant. One
moment I’ll never forget is when, out of the blue, my dad
reached his hand out for Logan as if trying to touch him.
Logan reciprocated the action. I’m grateful I captured on
camera one of the most tender moments of connection I’ve
ever seen, before or since.

My dad passed away on September 21, 2012.

Kathleen Dreier

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45
Sharing our personal experiences of loss, mourning, and grief can help us remember those
we’ve lost, find solace in our grief, and glean wisdom for how to carry on. Sharing these stories
can radically shift the way we talk and think about death and dying.

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Through the intense pain of losing someone, there’s also this
expansion of love. Is feels sacred, or a like spiritual experience to
lose someone, as strange as that sounds. The experience of death,
specifically after my sister’s death, deepened my understanding
of, I don’t know, God or whatever you want to call non-humanness
and nature, and also of my ancestors. I have a more tangible
understanding of what their support feels like.
Claire Murtha Paradis

I’m a Mexican American. Something my family does, a tradition when

they observe loss or grief or mourning, is the funeral. We always have
a mass as soon as possible. My family likes to dress in white because
they think it’s also a celebration of life rather than just death. We
also get together after the mass and eat and just share memories
about the person that we lost. After my uncle died, my aunt was very
grief-stricken, so we decided to start doing altares. We put cigarettes,
’cause he used to smoke and a little Coke bottle because he used to
really like Coke. We mostly did that for my aunt, but it’s nice because
it helps you remember them as a real person rather than a passing
memory. I think we all kind of found some solace in doing that.
Ana Teresa Espinoza

In the Jewish tradition, we sit shiva. Shiva means seven. That’s seven
days that we sit on the ground. We’re not supposed to be comfortable
during those days; it’s just a time to mourn. From my own experience
and then through studying it, it’s interesting how day one we just
cry and by day two or three, we’re able to laugh and cry. And by day
seven, we’re healed. As someone who works with grief, I see people
carrying their grief for years. My dad died when I was 12, and I grieved
him for many years, but not with the intensity, so it really helped the
process of going from deep sadness to laughter then finding a place
of acceptance.
Joan-e Rapine
IN MEMORY OF
JAMES “BIG JIM” GRIFFITH
July 30, 1935–December 18, 2021
James S. Griffith, or “Big Jim,” as he was
affectionately known, earned his PhD
in cultural anthropology and art history
from the University of Arizona (UA), and
went on to direct the UA’s Southwest
Folklore Center until 1998. In 1974 Jim
and his wife Loma Griffith founded
Tucson Meet Yourself, an annual folklife
festival featuring folk arts, music, dance,
and food representing Indigenous,
immigrant, and longtime resident
cultures of the region.

Jim’s books on Southern Arizona and

Northern Mexico include A Border Runs
Through It: Journeys in Regional History
and Folklore; Beliefs and Holy Places: A
Spiritual Geography of the Pimería Alta;
Hecho a Mano: The Traditional Arts of
Tucson’s Mexican American Community;
and his most recent, in 2019, Saints,
Statues, and Stories: A Folklorist Looks He loved the region we celebrate, and
at the Religious Art of Sonora. For many his friendliness, curiosity, and ever-
years he hosted the television segment, growing knowledge won him fans
“Southern Arizona Traditions”, on KUAT- and admirers from those Indigenous
TV’s Arizona Illustrated. In 2011 Big Jim to this land to longtime dwellers and
was named a National Heritage Fellow newcomers. Big Jim was also a musician
by the National Endowment for the Arts (a banjo player in the claw-hammer
in honor of his service to folklore and style), storyteller, jokester, husband,
the state of Arizona. father, grandfather, colleague, mentor,
and friend. He died peacefully at home
Our work at the Southwest Folklife on December 18, 2021, and is survived
Alliance has long been inspired and by his wife, Loma, children, Kelly and
guided by Jim’s kindness, respect, David, and grandchildren, Emile and
curiosity, and devotion to observation. Arwen. We miss him.

48
for reflection...
What is a cultural, family, or personal tradition you’ve practiced or
observed in times of loss or mourning?

In what ways has a personal experience of loss changed the way you
live your life?

In what ways has a personal experience of loss impacted how you

might prepare for your own death?

Have you ever cared for someone at the end of their life? What did
you learn from the experience?

49
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
EXHIBIT TEAM
Kimi Eisele, guest curator/writer
Leia Maahs, guest curator
Lisa Falk, co-curator/project manager
Kathleen Dreier, photography
Andie Zelnio, exhibit/book designer
Ruben Moreno, preparator

WITH GRATITUDE TO
Dr. Maribel Alvarez
Arizona END OF LIFE
Adam Cooper-Terán CARE PARTNERSHIP
Anchored at United Way of Tucson and Southern Arizona
Alvaro Enciso
Cáit NíSíomón
Nelda Ruiz
Monica Surfaro Spigelman
Alisha Vasquez
Many Mouths One Stomach

50
PHOTOGRAPHY CREDITS
The authors are grateful to the photographers and other sources for supplying or giving
permission to reproduce the following images for use in this book.

Cover and title pages: Kathleen Dreier, photographer, 2012

B bottom T top L left R right

2T-B Kathleen Dreier, photographer, 2022; 4-5 Kathleen Dreier, photographer, 2022;
6 Steven Meckler, photographer, 2017; 7 Kathleen Dreier, photographer, 2022 9-13
Kathleen Dreier, photographer, 2022; 15 Kathleen Dreier, photographer, 2022; 17-18
Kathleen Dreier, photographer, 2022; 20-23 Video stills by Cáit NíSíomón; 24 Lisa
Falk, photographer, 2022; 26 Max Mijn, photographer, 2022; 28 Kathleen Dreier,
photographer, 2022; 29 Dominic Bonuccelli, photographer, 2011, 30 Kathleen Dreier,
photographer, 2015, 31 Kathleen Dreier, photographer, 2022, 32 Kathleen Dreier,
photographer, 2021, 33T-B Kathleen Dreier, photographer, 2020; 34 Marcella Watson,
photographer, 2021; 35L Marcella Watson, photographer, 2021; 35R Marcella Watson,
photographer, 2022; 36-37 Susan M. Scheirman, photographer, 2022; 38 Kathleen
Dreier, photographer, 2016; 39 Kathleen Dreier, photographer, 2013; 40 Kathleen
Dreier, photographer, 2020; 41 Dominic Bonuccelli, photographer, 2020; 42-43
Kathleen Dreier, photographer, 2020; 45 Kathleen Dreier, photographer, 2012; 46
Kathleen Dreier, photographer, 2022; 48 Steven Meckler, photographer, 2017

51