My goddaughter is going off to college next week. She’s attending a school that is an airplane ride away from her home, her parents, and all her friends. In a video call with her yesterday, she described her emotions as excited, anxious, and a little scared. She was smiling, which comforted me.
She spent last week saying goodbye to friends who departed first. She picked up her final paycheck from her summer job. She broke up with her boyfriend, who was her prom date. She said they knew all along that going to different colleges needed to be the end of their romance, but not their friendship. She said she knows there are new opportunities for romance in her future, but first she wants to focus on her classes.
I was proud of her maturity and happy that she did not cause herself unnecessary suffering by holding onto a relationship that would not help her thrive. She may be young, but she is already wiser than I was at that age.
Before we ended our call, I told her that I would light a candle for her new beginning on the day she and her mother fly to school. Lighting candles is a ritual that I perform so often that I buy votive candles in boxes of 50 and battery candles with longer life.
I light a candle when someone I know is suffering emotionally or physically. When a friend is waiting for test results, having surgery, has gotten bad news, is facing a difficult decision, is waiting for an answer to a prayer, is navigating a hard change in their life, or meeting a challenge of any kind, like starting college, I will light a candle. Sometimes I’ll keep a battery candle lit until I learn that peace was achieved.
I light the darkness feeling that I am doing something constructive. I am not only hoping for peace, I am also generating positive energy directed at someone with whom I cannot be in-person. It is an expression of love and care that I can manifest from near or far away.
When I keep vigil with someone at the end of their life, I keep a battery candle lit with the intention that my love and the glow will light the way across the threshold for that person until death ends the vigil. After a death, I will light a candle for another three days, sending love and light to those left behind, the mourners who are now busily processing the change in their lives.
When I take the time to light a candle, I am expressing my concern and sharing in another person’s journey. I feel love and process loss. I acknowledge the reality of constant change.
It’s been said that a person dies twice. First, when their heart stops. The second time, when people stop telling their stories. Keep someone you love alive by celebrating their place in your life with a luminaria on October 29th. Leaving the campus at dusk, you will walk through a work of art and a field of love that will light up your entire year.
[This article was first published in the Ojo del Lago in October 2025.]