Death is a part of life. My Father’s death profoundly affected the subsequent years and my life choices. I feel his spirit. Years before his death, and more so since, I have been drawn to Mexican cemeteries. They are beautiful places filled with color, religious iconography, nature, and tributes to the human journey. In these spaces, families congregate to celebrate and share the spirit of the departed. They are crowded, often on top of one another, as though the body is merely a vessel. For Mexicans, It is the difference between Death being a part of life to a way of life. ‘Part’ stems from the latin ‘pare’ - a transitive verb implying reduction - segmentation. The end. A stopping point. ’Way’ on the other hand is a noun defined as the manner in which something is done. The latter implies living mindfully connected to Death as a reality of life. The good cannot exist without the bad. The light does not shine without the dark. Way is also a passage. I am on my way. The way to. I don’t know what that may be, but I find greater peace believing that.