Why The Day of the Dead is So Special

The Word Gourmet
Nov 2 · 5 min read
Altar dedicated to fathers and some amazing mamas, on The Day of the Dead
Altar dedicated to fathers and some amazing mamas, on The Day of the Dead
Home altar on the Day of the Dead

Dedicated to two amazing mamas: Grace Quintanilla (Mama Rumba) and Christine Bordenave (our Mama Africa)

The blend of ocher and sienna colors, the fragrances of the cempazuchitl or marigold, the late autumn light shining down on the drying earth that gradually embraces the spring and summer vegetation to allow for the next regeneration, the cool breeze. For those who once believed that there are no real seasons in Mexico, these transformations are heralds of Earth’s both subtle and forceful changes in this hemisphere speaking to us, and it is no coincidence that the Day of the Dead falls at this time, when we perceive things to be dying.

For many of us in Mexico, this festival is one of our most cherished. Whether or not it has been part of a family tradition or if we encountered this celebration later in life, it takes on greater significance as we come to understand the powerful messages it can hold for us in our life process.

As much a pagan festival as it is a religious one, it is a fine example of how history, cultures, and time allow us to transform rituals so that they have meaning for us and do not become a stagnant form of gestures.

The Day of the Dead is not a Mexican Halloween. While the pageantry can be stunning, with parades of colorful characters known to everyone, such as skeletons of famous or infamous celebrities and the many catrinas (that lady skeleton decked out in her Victorian attire, with a beautiful and terrifying face and a sweeping hat) or the two nights where we can observe flower-filled cemeteries with families talking, dancing, drinking, crying… the three day, two-night celebration is all about remembering. This is where it holds its greatest significance. In our minds and hearts.

In our popular culture, families of the recently deceased may set up entire homes as an altar; they may invite the entire village and even strangers, to partake in their memorial, offering them tamales and atole, as the gracious hosts they are, and sharing their memories through the homes and rooms and the objects that represent them.

Whether you are a “believer” or not, there is something sacred and beautiful about setting up a special place, at this time of shared recollection and veneration, to remember the people that you have loved. Of course, we remember them always. But what happens on these two days is that this remembering becomes more focused. We take time out, as families, to share our family folklore and talk about why we loved someone the way we did. We repeat the same stories each year about how someone loved to read, or how they were a great scientist or artist, or how they nurtured us, or maybe unwillingly hurt us, but who meant something to us, to our lives; who helped make us who we are.

Through our stories and memories we share a part of ourselves with the younger generations, who listen (even if they sometimes appear not to be), and come to understand that even after we have passed, our lives are important. Through these recollections they learn values, how our gestures in life can affect those around us, how no matter how ordinary our life may have appeared, we hold such power over those that have loved us.

This year, as before, led by the profound need to learn about and venerate those who came before her, to learn where she comes from, my teenage daughter guides me to the bustling market to buy the orange and rust flowers, the white sugar skulls, the papel picado (cut-out paper) in a variety of colors, some Day of the Dead sweet bread, and candles, all traditional objects we enjoy and that hold other symbolic meanings.

We set out the photographs of the people, and sometimes pets, we are remembering, and place some of their favorite objects around them; perhaps a shot glass of tequila, or a favorite book.

This year, in honor of some wonderful men who have passed, we decided on a theme: fathers. A theme is not necessary, but sometimes done, in a gesture to remember those that may have held a special significance for us, even if they were not directly related.

Several years ago, working as an interpreter for the Sundance Film Festival workshop in Oaxaca, there were several discussions on how, in many of the film scripts, mothers were powerfully present, but no father figures appeared. It was startling to realize the effect of a father figure, or rather lack of, on many of the writers or their characters. It made me more aware of this situation in society and with the people around me.

This year, as we place the photograph of our father, stepfather, uncles and grandfathers on the altar, we remember, along with many other loved ones, the fathers of those dear to us who have passed: Jorge Berry, who someone called “the best grandfather in the school”, a lover of books, and a loving, constant presence in his children’s and grandchildren’s life; Armando Villaseñor, a creative, theme-party-loving, louder-than-life journalist who made friends everywhere he went; Mexico’s beloved painter, Francisco Toledo, whose art work I was privileged to explore intimately after assisting in an archiving project leading back to his childhood, a great artist and philanthropist able to transform cities into cultural centers, but who was also, not simply, the father of children I came to love; Uncle Peter, whose hugs were legendary, and Uncle Keith, whose adopted generations of us, for better or worse, and adored Mexico; and of course, Claudio and Carlos, gone far too soon. We remember you. Fathers, perfect, imperfect, human, you mean so much to us and are never forgotten.

In the end, as often the case with many celebrations, the Day of the Dead festival is very much about the living. We weep, not for their loss, but for the loss of their light in our life. By honoring, remembering, celebrating, and longing for them, we learn more about ourselves, and about what we mean to each other when all is said and done.

As the years pass, the photographs on our altars may become numerous, and we become very aware that, if we are lucky, we too may one day share a place of honor on these pedestals. The Day of the Dead is a reminder of our own mortality, and of the importance of making the most of our days and our loved ones.

This is why it is such a special day for us, and why there is so much joy in our celebration. Joy mixed with tears; that bitter-sweet blend so common to our existence. In Mexico, we celebrate the dead, as we celebrate life.


Originally published at http://thewordgourmet.com on November 2, 2019.

The Word Gourmet

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