My daughter takes Spanish at her Catholic school. Her Spanish instructor does a short unit on Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) in October. My daughter and I have talked about the Day of the Dead for a while and, because we talk about our dead family members quite a bit, she asked if we could celebrate Día de los Muertos this year.
Dia De Los Muertos is traditionally celebrated November 1 and 2. Family and friends gather together to celebrate their lost loved ones. Celebrations (often lighthearted in spirit) typically include marigolds, creating ofrenda (altars) to remember deceased loved ones, visiting cemeteries, sharing sugar skulls and pan de muerto with friends.
I have always wanted to celebrate Dia de los Muertos, but wasn’t sure quite what to do. I was afraid I wouldn’t be prepared the way I should be. Basically, I was nervous about starting to put together a celebration.
I reminded myself of a Yoda-ism I often quote to my daughter: “There is no try. There is only do or do not.” So I just did it.
It started with an impulse purchase of potted Marigolds at Trader Joe’s last week. It probably wasn’t that impulsive, since I’ve been developing Día de los Muertos-themed crochet items, but it felt more aligned with where I am right now in my grief calendar. I want to celebrate Día de los Muertos. I want to connect with my loved ones.
One stumbling block was: where am I going to create this altar (or ofrenda)? The feeling that it needed to be…I don’t know, not ordinary, got in my way. I realized simplicity is fine, and my connection to my deceased family wasn’t about the perfection of my altar, but in the intention to connect with them over two days in November.
My home office has an awkward spot in the room: a double-cornered wall (kind of a wide U-shaped space) that was hard to fit furniture into but was, I realized, perfect for an icon corner. I hung some icons and other religious imagery there. I found a small table I had used as a nightstand about eleven years ago (purchased shortly after my mother died when I moved into a new apartment), and I put it into my icon corner as a little altar with a picture of my mother, a bud vase with faux flowers, and a small candle.
Here is what the altar space looked like before:
That really was all I needed to start my ofrenda: a space that is special to me.
To transform my altar space into more of a simple ofrenda, I added some more pictures of my deceased family members, LED candles (3 votives and 1 pillar-sized), some personal items (mostly jewelry), an essential oil room freshener (in lieu of incense, which I don’t have on hand), some food, a glass of water, and a birthday card I had written to my mother this year, and, of course, my potted marigolds from Trader Joe’s. I used a crystal glass for water and a bowl from my parents’ china set to hold my food offerings, adding to the inclusion of personal items on my altar.
Here is what my ofrenda space looks like now:
And that’s it. It’s not especially elaborate… yet… but it’s holding its own as a viable, valuable space of connection as I prepare to celebrate Día de los Muertos.
Is it authentic? Not really. I mean, it has the elements that make it an ofrenda, but they aren’t as elaborate or as decorative, and that can change over time. Right now, the important thing is that I took the step of connecting with my lost loved ones through a simple ritual I can improve over the years.
The entire operation took about 30 minutes and cost me (so far) about $8. Remember, the goal is connection, not perfection.
If you’re interested in making your own, very simple Día de los Muertos ofrenda, download my free guide.
And, as always, remember that Love Remains.
Xo
-A