Offering of gratitude

More than a celebration of death, the Day of the Dead is an appreciation of the lives of those who are no longer with us.

Establishing a tradition

Day of the Dead is my second favorite holiday, after Christmas.

I studied from elementary through 3rd grade at the same school, and one of its traditions was to erect a Day of the Dead altar for each class.

I liked those days, not only for the beauty of the tradition representing itself but also for the creativity involved in building the altar. No two altars were the same on that day. Despite following the common elements and basic meanings (explained in this #Ivy article ), each generation brought their own ideas, and brought from home the photographs of their grandparents or relatives who had passed. Each altar served as a creative, collaborative exercise, the representation of a collective, full of feeling.

It's funny how, while in school, you always want to grow up and move on to the next stage.

It's funny how, while in school, you always want to grow up and move on to the next stage. Then, being in the next stage, some eagerly want to jump to the next one, or nostalgically remember the previous one.

The same thing happened to me, and once I finished University, I found myself missing several things, one of them being the coexistence and tradition of erecting an altar for the Day of the Dead.

A delicious “Pan de Muerto” and the Day of the Dead 'ofrenda'

The time I lived in Canada, I didn't make a Day of the Dead altar. It was only now in Germany, far from my family, and with the desire to reconnect with my traditions, but above all with my heroes and loved ones, that I recognized that it was time to take up this tradition again.

This is my fourth year in Germany, and my third year setting up a Day of the Dead altar.

Each year the ofrenda has grown a little bit.

Family Heroes

This year I added to my Day of the Dead offering, the portraits of my maternal grandparents and my paternal grandfather, and I am not exaggerating when I say that they are my heroes. Let me share with you a little bit of why.

Don Pru

He passed away many years before my birth. I have known him through my mother, my grandmother when she was alive, and through a few others who shared stories in common with him.

Don Pru was a hard working, honest, patient and loving man. Good for business, grateful for the abundance and bounty of the land he worked all his life, as a farmer, as a cattle rancher.

He was a witness to historical events, such as the Mexican Revolution and the Cristeros War.

I always enjoyed watching pictures of him. With his elegant bearing, his charro suit and his calm but strong look. His light-coloured eyes full of wisdom, and stoicism confirmed by the anecdotes of the hardships he lived through, without turning him into a bitter person.

He liked to dance, and although he enjoyed social events and conversations, he avoided excesses, honoring his name.

He was known for his kindness, and for never refusing help those who approached him. Although he was a successful landowner, a distinguished cattle rancher and an important personality in his locality, his anecdotes and teachings have an undertone of humility and gratitude.

I did not have the joy of meeting him in person, still I hope that some of his wisdom, business acumen and sense of justice have been passed on to me.

Doña Vene

Her life was anything but boring. Mi Abue grew up in a family where violence was the norm, but her kindness and enthusiasm would make anyone think that she lived in more favorable conditions. As a teenager, her parents improvised a hiding place for her and her sisters on the living room floor of their home, where she spent days in hiding to keep the Revolutionaries from taking them away.

During the struggle of the Mexican Revolution (which lasted from November 20, 1910 to December 1, 1920), the soldiers would destroy cattle, riches and women as they passed by. Thanks to her hiding place, Doña Vene escaped the dangers of the armed conflict, although thousands of women did not suffer the same fate and went from being free people to being spoils of war.

She worked the land, was the mother of 6 children, a businesswoman, and was also an authentic “Doña” (understood as an expression of respect and distinction) landowner. Widowed at the age of 30, and in a male-dominated culture she was a feminist without knowing it, making her way and raising her children without the judgments of society being able to bring her down.

She was always strong, tenacious and extremely brave. Doña Venita was the most enduring and healthy person I knew, even when she had an illness, she was stronger than most.

Until one day she was diagnosed with cancer. I never thought it was an appropriate diagnosis for her. In my opinion, and without criticism, they were stored emotions, that in her life so full of dramatic events, she did not have enough time or space to process and heal.

She didn't know it, but she took all that violence, anguish, uncertainty and lack of love, and transformed it into strength, courage and love for her family.

Don Quique

He left his home and large family when he was a child. Fleeing from affective deprivation and domestic violence, he worked many jobs, and lived in many different places that were not always a home.

At one time he even slept on tombstones in a cemetery.

As I told you in this other article, Don Quique was a migrant. Who in his youth and thanks to the “Bracero” program managed not only to survive, but through his tireless work, he was able to provide for his family, achieve American citizenship, and establish his own business in Mexico.

He experienced firsthand the American dream, and many of its nightmares. So when he had the choice between taking his family to the U.S. or returning to his homeland, he chose the second option and grew his wealth.

He loved reading, and repairing things. He was always looking for a reason to get the family together and spend time together. Although he was always fond of organizing picnics, get-togethers and inns, he was also very careful about his alone time. Some might label him as a bit of a loner or sullen, but I think his fondness for sitting in his hammock listening to his birds and reading a book were reminiscent of the solitude he lived in for so many years.

My “Abue” was so sociable that I am sure he made friends with solitude at a very early age. The years that I had the joy of his presence I was able to recognize his unflagging love for his family. I am sure that was the reason why he defeated death itself more than four times. My grandmother used to tell us about the many times Don Quique was evicted, but he always came back stronger and as stubborn as ever.

I loved his hugs, so full of enthusiasm and hope. And holding his ears as I looked into his eyes. He always wore his hair very combed, very “ironed, in his shirt, and whistled when he combed his hair. He was mischievous and spontaneous. He made jokes, and spoke with a strong voice, and without filters.

Don Quique inspires me in many ways, and among his many accomplishments I count that he was always true to himself. “Those gringos” were not able to dilute or tame him. I am sure that that determination, sometimes disguised as stubbornness, and that courage that characterized him, protected him and preserved his childlike heart.

Celebrating the life of our ancestors.

Invoking the teachings of my ancestors

What more could I wish for than to be able to talk to my grandparents. To ask them for their advice, and to know their opinion on different topics. For the time being it is within my reach to seek to learn from their life experiences.

There is a lot of talk about healing transgenerational wounds, but this year I decided to take advantage of the Day of the Dead festivities as an opportunity to be grateful for family history and learn from it.

What better way to honor our ancestors than to recognize their achievements despite adversity.

In my own way I make a commitment to carry on what they learned and their personal accomplishments.

“God writes spiritual mysteries in our hearts, where they silently wait to be discovered.” ~Rumi