Flowers for my Fuckups
A new tradition on this Day of the Dead
Before my twenties, cemeteries had always been the place for tightlipped, somber occasions. I only ever visited them for the burials. Knots would tense and tangle in my belly. And if we spoke, we only spoke in whispers.
So imagine my happy disorientation when friends brought me to my first Italian cemetery on November 1st, 1975, All…