Día de los Muertos: Learning to Love Death in Mexico

Mexico was visited for the Day of the Dead.

Not because it was understood. Because it was not.

In America, death is hidden. Hospitals. Funerals. Black clothes. Whispered conversations.

In Mexico, at least during these two days, death is celebrated.

Not understanding how that works.

Oaxaca City, October 31st. The streets fill with marigolds. Orange everywhere. Petals. Garlands. Offerings.

The scent is overwhelming. Sweet. Earthy. Alive.

A woman is building an ofrenda in the plaza. Photos of her parents. Candles. Bread. Sugar skulls. Tequila.

"For them?"

She nods. "They come back tonight."

"You believe that?"

She looks like the sun rising was asked.

"They come back. We feed them. We love them. Then they go."

Simple. Certain.

The cemetery at night is lit by candles. Thousands of them. Flickering. Dancing.

Families sit beside graves. Eat. Drink. Talk.

A man plays guitar. Sings songs his mother loved.

A child asks questions about her grandfather. Her father answers.

Nobody cries. Not that is seen.

Standing at the edge. Feeling like an intruder.

An old woman notices. Waves over.

"You family?"

"No."

"You alone?"

"Yes."

"Sit."

Sitting.

She hands a sugar skull. "For you."

"For me?"

"Death comes for everyone. Might as well have candy first."

She laughs. Laughing back. Eating sugar skulls beside a grave never seen before, for people never known.

The parade is the next day. Skeletons. Masks. Music.

A woman dressed as La Catrina stops beside. "You Mexican?"

"No."

"You celebrate?"

"Trying to."

She smiles. "Good. Death does not care where you are from. It comes for everyone."

Then she dances away.

Leaving Oaxaca on November 2nd. The day the dead return to their world.

The streets are empty. The ofrendas are being dismantled. The marigolds are wilting.

But something has shifted.

Still fearing death. Probably always will.

But also understanding now: fear and love can coexist.

Death can be feared and still the people who died can be celebrated.

Mourning and candy skulls can coexist.

A cemetery can be stood in at midnight and feel not terror, but connection.

Mexico teaches that death is not the opposite of life.

It is part of it.

And maybe, just maybe, if death is learned to be loved, life can be learned to be loved more too.