Now I have heard of some strange things in my life, but tonight when my host mom told me we were going to eat breakfast with “the difuntos” in the morning and I googled “difuntos” and saw “deceased,” I thought: “Hm.” Emphasis on “Hm.”

But an open-minded sort of “hm,” the kind that goes up in pitch, not the judgmental kind of “Hm.” Intonation is prime real estate in nascent-Spanish-speaker-town.

So, tomorrow morning, I am eating breakfast with the dead, too. My host mom’s husband died three years ago. I think she probably looks forward to this day every year.

Last night, I had a haunting dream about my Nana. We (my dad, mom and sister) were looking for her everywhere, knowing that her health was fragile, and I found her embanked in a shoreline close to the waves.

But her body was folded up like a square, somehow. Not like a pretzel. And she was still alive. I put my hand on her cheek. Her head was facing out to the ocean. I don’t know what I told her but I think I tried to comfort her. I don’t remember if she died in the dream, or if my dream changed course. To be honest, it doesn’t matter because either way, she is not alive.

This makes me think of two different plays: Fuddy Meers by David Lindsay-Abaire and Happy Days by Samuel Beckett.

These dreams are most of all bewildering; after the dream ends and I am lucid, that is how I feel: bewildered. During the dream I feel panicked, stricken, helpless, and suffering. There is suffering. I’m looking one of the saddest realities in the face and I can’t stop it from happening. Not even in my subconscious.

Then tonight after dinner, my host mom tells me that we are eating breakfast with the dead. I am familiar with Dia de Los Muertos but I didn’t know about eating at the graveside.

Now that I think of it, it makes sense because families always eat together here. My host brothers are in their 30s and they all eat dinner with their mom when they are home. In fact, this is the most natural way to include their father in their lives: to eat with him.

It’s fascinating to me that my host mom believes that Halloween is a satanic practice, but she celebrates Dia De Los Muertos which has skulls and eccentric skeletons playing instruments in its decor.  I know that Dia De Los Muertos is about a celebration of the “difuntos” lives, but it still feels a lot like Halloween.

So tomorrow I think Nana and I are eating breakfast. We have to leave the house at 5:30am. I plan to sleep in the back of the car and hopefully not dream about anything serious.

Nana, it’s not the same without your sweet presence in my life. I still know what your house smelled like, how you walked in your pink bathrobe, how you slipped your house shoes on instinctively when you got out of bed and your favorite: grilled cheese sandwiches. I wish I could eat grilled cheese with you.

I miss you and I love you. I will think of you and hug you in my thoughts in the morning.