As a Mexican in a multicultural marriage living in the U.S., it is important for me to share the tradition of Day of the Dead with my children. 

I grew up learning about my ancestors at home by seeing and helping my mom build an altar for all the family members that had passed before us. On the altar, or ofrenda, we placed pictures and objects along with “cempazuchitl” flowers (Aztec marigolds). 

My mother shared many stories of our family members that had passed. I learned, as a boy, that my grandfather, Ricardo, had been the Chief of Police in the state of Tamaulipas and that my grandfather, Jose, was a mechanical engineer who had lost an eye when admiring a blue heron too close. With Grandma Cati, I learned about our genealogy and our Jewish lineage. Jewelry, toys, clothes and books were placed by the pictures of our loved ones. 

Two days before the holiday, which is November 1st, my mother cooked special dishes that were favorites to some of our ancestors. We all helped, sprinkling cheese on the tacos or sesame seeds on the mole and pouring favorite drinks. We took flowers to the cemetery, told stories and sung songs to the tune of my dad’s guitar. He played a couple of songs that were favorites of my grandfather. My mom asked him to play and sing other songs that were meaningful to those that had passed. This annual remembrance of my ancestors led me to love and appreciate who I was, to learn my value and, as a teenager, to do my best to behave in such a way that my ancestors could be proud of me.

When my family joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, these traditions became more than a tradition alone, but an actual part of our faith and hope. I love to know I’ll meet my ancestors again and get to enjoy their company as if I had known them here, thanks to the beautiful tradition of remembering the dead.

-Luis Bonilla