What Día De Los Muertos Means To Me

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4gf59aOB1OI

I am a multiracial woman. I am of Spanish, Lebanese, and Mexican Native American descent. I spent most of my childhood growing up in El Sereno, a neighborhood on the east side of Los Angeles, California. El Sereno is predominantly a Hispanic community.

I attended All Saints School, a Catholic school in El Sereno. I went there from first through eighth grade. Being a child of the 80s had its many, many perks. One of them was the classroom holiday parties. They were epic! This was before the fear of food allergies ended the era of quality holiday parties. Sorry, kids, it's the truth.

Halloween was the day that every kid knew they would be flying high on a non-stop sugar rush. This would commence in the early afternoon and carry on into the wee hours of the night. At All Saints, a typical Halloween would consist of a costume parade outside on the school playground. There, we showed off our highly flammable plastic costumes. Would the plastic Scooby Doo costume take the first-place ribbon? Or would it be the plastic Wonder Woman ensemble? No one knew.

The fun did not stop there. Next came the classroom party. There were tables filled with candy, cakes, chips, popcorn, fruit punch, and soda. Artificial sugar, as far as the eyes could see. Once the school day ended, we would take a couple of hours at home to watch some cartoons and freshen up our costumes. Then, we were out for a night of trick-or-treating with our friends. We never even contemplated going home until our pillowcases were filled to the rim with candy.

One would question whether it could get any better than that. But if you went to a Catholic school, it did. Because the following day was All Souls Day, or what others refer to as Dia De Los Muertos (Day of the Dead). A day we celebrated with a day off from school. This seemed necessary since a large percentage of us kids were suffering from sugar hangovers and upset stomachs. That was it. That was the extent of what that holiday meant to me.

Until my son became obsessed with the movie "CoCo." He was 11 years old when the movie came out. He watched that movie daily. It spoke to him the way a great film often can. It even inspired him to start playing the acoustic guitar. One day, I decided to sit down and finally watch the movie. The film had me in tears for several different reasons.

One reason was that I felt a sense of shame. My family never taught me the importance of embracing my culture. If anything, my grandparents spent their lives turning away from their heritage. My grandfather went so far as to change his last name to something that sounded more Caucasian. My grandmother spoke fluent Spanish but never taught her children to speak the language, including my mother. Maybe my grandparents felt that was what they needed to do to coexist in this country. I could not say for certain. Their reasoning behind it all was never explained to me.

Another reason this movie brought me to tears was seeing the bonds that existed between the different generations within families. That was something that I did not have the opportunity to experience within my family. Most, if not all, of my family members were extremely mentally and emotionally unstable. They were incapable of creating or contributing to a strong and stable family dynamic.

My family consisted of decades upon decades of people who had been taught to accept and endure a continuous cycle of traumatic events, which left each member of my family with an overall feeling of sadness, anger, bitterness, and a complete sense of emptiness. That is how they exited this world. I had the blueprints laid out before me to follow in their footsteps, which left me with an overwhelming sense of burden and resentment toward all of them.

One day, I was sitting in a medical office waiting for a CT scan to be performed on me. I was experiencing some pretty hefty health problems. One of my closest friends was there with me for support. I was scared. She told me that I was never alone. I responded to her by thanking her for coming with me. She laughed. She then proceeded to tell me that she was not referring to herself. She explained that two people were with me, and they never left my side. She then told me they were sitting beside me in that office. She described what both of them looked like. My friend has an incredible gift. A gift that she's had since she was a small child. I have witnessed her gift firsthand, not on just one occasion but on several.

Those two people, or rather, souls, are family members who had passed on. They do indeed watch over me. Since learning this information, I have sought to sort through and understand the complex feelings that come with this inner knowing. Those two people who once caused me so much pain were once people I loved, and they loved me. They are now able to share that love for me by providing guidance and helping me navigate through this journey called life.

Since I was a little girl, up until his death, my uncle used to repeatedly tell me that I needed to be the one to "break the cycle." I have spent my entire life desperately trying to figure out how I could ever hope to accomplish something like that. After years of struggles, stumbles, heartbreaking, and core-shaking experiences, I have discovered that those experiences were exactly what I needed to experience to understand the answers to that very question fully.

A candle is lit beside me as I sit here tonight on this All Hallows' Eve. This is done traditionally as a way to guide lost spirits home. When the realm between the worlds is at its thinnest, it also symbolizes the continuation of the deceased's life in spirit and serves as a reminder that the memory of our loved ones will live on. As I write this story and share my experiences with all of you, I know my ancestors are sitting beside me proudly, knowing that I am doing exactly what I was sent here to do. I am breaking the cycle.

"One cannot deny who one is meant to be."

-Coco