Dia De Los Muertos: When The Dead Come Alive

My husband is Mexican (I promise this fact is a relevant one to this post).  And since we’ve been married I have thrown myself into all things that is Mexican (cue my now completed Frida Kahlo full sleeve tattoo, a full blog recap is coming, so stay tuned). I have fallen in love with Mexican art, Mexican history, and the love of food, community and family that have embraced me like a warm hug kindly given. 

I will never forget spending the first week in November with my in laws. My mother-in-law's birthday is November first and we went to Cincinnatti (where my in laws live) to celebrate. It was the first time I met most of G's family. I think I worm vomitted my way, with the help of tequilla and red wine, into everyone believing in an extrovertness that even surprised me. I came downstairs the next morning a bit blurry eyed and saw my mother-in-law taking a few steps away from decorating a small alter in the living room. I had never really seen such a thing before. Bright flowers framed the perimeter where pictures of smiling family members, small objects, and little candles were purposefully laid about.  It was Day of the Dead.

Dia de los Muertos is a celebratory holiday that begins on November 1, ends on November 2, and is celebrated in Mexico and parts of Central America and the United States. The lives of loved ones are honored by altars (ofrendas) being constructed that feature all of the favorite things of the particular person that has passed. Families will also visit gravesites to decorate them with flowers (marigolds called “cempasúchil” or “flower of the dead” are often used because it is believed that their bright colors and strong scent will guide the spirits to their families on the altars) and there are lots and lots of candles.  Many cities will host parades and festivals with music, dancing, face painting, and all the good eats that your stomach can handle.

Tulsa, Oklahoma, of all places, throws such a festival and we of course had to go.

Local businesses set up tents along the Arts District.

There were lots of jewelry, books, bags, unique art, and even home decor items that were for purchase.

My husband bought me these coasters.

And this necklace.

And I of course had to immediately put it on because it really did make the outfit.

One of the highlights was when one of the local artists told us that her and her husband had a bet going about where where we were from.  They had it narrowed down to Vegas or California, which is all the information that I needed to let me know that my character for the day was working, even though I was going for more of a New Yorker kind of vibe. 

What does someone from Vegas look like anyway?  I thought at the time. All I can think of is Nicholas Cage who is the only celebrity I know who actually lives lives there. I’m actually very much ok with that  as long as I get to hang out with him, although I’ve heard you have to sign an NDA before you do.  I would sign it with bells on if you were wondering.

And of course there were skulls, lots and lots of skulls. This celebratory day symbolically uses skeletons (most are humorous in form and demeanor) as a way to remind people that death is a natural part of life, and not something to be feared.

We then made our way to the Living Arts of Tulsa, a contemporary art space where they had a myriad of altars set up that recognized loved ones who had passed.

Ever since I turned 40, death has become more of a real thing for me.  I see my childhood waving through the rearview mirror and along with it the innocence of believing that death, dying is something that could never, would never happen, and if and when it did, it would be way into my future.  So far into my future in fact that I couldn't even really see it, even when I put on my glasses, squint my eyes into some kind of clarity, it’s all still very blurry, this dark unrecognizable thing.  But now time looms ahead and it feels like it’s almost mocking me to some extent.  Gone are the days when I’m the youngest one in the room; I’m now in the middle of the pack  or even (cue the shock, cue the horror) the oldest.  

But Day of the Dead is a celebration of death.  An opportunity for your spirit to return to your loved ones every year.   If I had grown up celebrating such a holiday  maybe I wouldn't be so scared of death today.  I would be satisfied with a life lived no matter how short or long because my spirit will not have died, but will continue to return to the living world as long as someone creates an altar for me to return to.  I know my husband would do this for me of course, as long as he remains living, and then perhaps my nieces and nephews, all of which know my favorite things.  I’m not a particularly complex person when it comes to what I love.   You probably already know by now if you've read at least one of my blog posts, but if you don't the things I want on my ofrenda is a cat of course, a black one or a tuxedo, and then a glass of red wine filled to the brim (even my four year old nephew knows that’s my beverage of choice…when asked recently what Tia E likes to drink he looked at me with all the child like innocence in the world and without skipping a beat promptly said wine and then their’s my niece who bought at her elementary Christmas store fair a wine stopper to give to me when she was in the fourth grade…am I really that transparent?  The answer is yes, of course I am), and books of course, lots and lots of books.  I love other things as well, traveling, self care, tattoos, weird modern art, but it’s those three items that I would like to see displayed on this very special day as I greet other family member’s spirits who have passed amidst the living.

I grew up believing that after you died that was really it for you.  You either went to heaven to bask in all that's glitter and gold or hell, where you would most definately burn for all of eternity.  How gruesome, how drear.  No wonder I have such a fear of death, but now I know that this might not be the case and I really hope that's true because if I am greeted with beautiful flowers and all of my favorite things after I die, even if it's only for one day a year, my spirit will most definately be skipping with joy, my skeleton’s bones knocking into one another as I take to my ofrenda where I will find wine, books, and a cat.  And that dear reader is my heaven.