Death — and how the Mexicans do it right.
Yes, I said death. Not dying, but already dead people. And yes, i said Mexicans, not “people from Mexico”, but Mexicans. It’s a cultural thing. It doesn’t matter where they live; they could live in Canada.
Now that any possibility of political correctness is out of the way, let’s talk dead people, specifically dead people who we really care about.
With the “Day of the Dead” celebration coming up, Mexicans all over the world are preparing favorite gifts and bites of favorite food for their departed loved ones.
The basic idea is that the souls of dead will be enticed back to the land of the living for a visit, but just one day — Nov 1. A shrine crafted in their honor, with their picture and tasty food will show them the way.
I’ve watched this tradition from the sidelines many times. This year, my friend in Mexico asked me if she could add pictures of my dead parents to the alter she was building for her grandparents. Her request seemed a bit odd, but I thought sure, why not. Then she started peppering me with questions about them. All things necessary to properly prepare the alter.
“What were their favorite foods? What did they like to do? Did they have favorite things?” My mother and father have been gone for many years and for the past two decades conversations about them always produced polite, rehearsed responses from me. Now these new questions forced me to remember specific details about my parents.
Remembering that my mom’s favorite food was the asparagus she grew herself behind the house resurrected vivid memories of her tending to her precious crop. Remembering that my dad really loved Bean Dip and Fritos — but only ate them in his pickup (because he had to hide the “bad habit” from my mom) transported me back to being his son again. I rode next to him in his Ford F150 as we drove through our small West Texas town, munching on his favorite snack. Other fleeting moments I hadn’t thought about in years flooded back into my mind, and I was covered with this delicious mix of joy, warmth and loss.
I don’t know if my dad and mom will actually come visit their alter south of the border — or start arguing if they see each other again. But I do know they would have appreciated the gesture, and enjoyed being remembered in detail by their favorite son. Maybe that’s the whole point.
We don’t need to visit a grave to remember our dead, we just need to do it. The Mexicans set aside a special day once a year, and this year I’m honored to join them.
