Dia De Los Muertos

Five years ago I finally made it to Mexico. A friend of mine, Raymond, who was born there was my traveling companion for the first week. We stayed with a priest who had practiced in Ray's church years ago in Sacramento. Padre Antonio was a blast and a wonderful host. His home, filled with dogs and cats, was in the hills of Cuernavaca.

The Padre was our tour guide for the 3 days of Dia De Los Muertos. By day he would take us to cemetaries in various villages and towns where he had once been the parish priest. Families would spend a day or more cleaning grave sights, having picnics, and decorate with fresh flowers by the bucket full. By night he would take us to public festivals or drop us off at someones door to pay our respects to the recently departed. Their life-size effigies were laid out with a plethora of flowers and food and the things that person loved in life. Both Ray and I felt strange showing up at strangers doors with nothing but flowers in our hands but we were welcomed with such hospitality and warmth that we eventually felt more comfortable accepting hot cocoa and pan dulce. The Padre would hide out somewhere around the corner so that his parishioners wouldn't see him and request lengthy blessings.

The "folks" we visited were mostly elderly but in one case it was a teenager who'd passed away. Josue had died as a result of gang violence. "He" was wearing his favorite clothes and above his bed was a photograph of him wearing the same, it was truly haunting.

At one point we were in a cemetery after dark and met a family of 3 brothers and their mother who were cleaning and adorning the father's grave. They invited us back to their nearby home to have some coffee and sweets. Although he had died almost 20 years before, the father held a prominent place on a counter filled with flowers and candles. Once again, so much hospitality, we Americans could certainly learn from other cultures who aren't so paranoid and self-centered.

The home alters ranged from simple, silent reminders of a persons life (like the Padre's mother's alter with just a glass of water, wild flowers and a candle to light the way) to the over the top. Ray and I made an alter for our fathers in the front entry of The Padre's house. Everyday we would find things at the market to add to the table such as pan muerte, whisky, cigarettes and other things our fathers enjoyed that probably killed them. As we collected each item we shared with each other memories, that experience will forever be with me.

I spent the rest of my time in Mexico mostly in Oaxaca and Mexico City. I met nothing but wonderful people and had so many great experiences. The Dia De Los Muertos celebrations and rituals were beautiful and real and the continued connection that the people of Mexico have with their faith and their dead is enviable to me.