Once upon a time, there was a little boy named Diego who lived in a Mexican village. It was fall, and the Día de los Muertos, the Day of the Dead, was drawing near. Together with his family, Diego was getting ready for the big celebration. The whole village was decorated with colorful paper garlands, there were fresh flowers in the houses, and the marketplaces were filled with delicious snacks. As Diego enjoyed a churro, he asked his mother, “Why do we actually celebrate the Día de los Muertos?”
She took him aside with a smile. “The Día de los Muertos is a special day when we celebrate our beloved departed. But it’s not a sad day—it’s a joyful celebration. We believe that on this day, our ancestors return to us and visit us.”
Diego looked at her with wide eyes. “Are you really coming back?”
“That’s what tradition says,” his mother continued. “We set up ofrendas—altars—and place photos, candles, and the deceased’s favorite foods on them so they feel welcome here. We also put out cempasúchil flowers so they can find their way to us.”
Over the next few days, Diego worked hard to help the family set up the altar. It was for his grandfather, who had passed away several years earlier. Photos of him were placed on the altar, and a sweet bread baked especially for him—the pan de muerto—was set next to the pictures. Chocolate and his grandfather’s favorite dish were on the altar. Now all that was missing was a small calavera—a skull made of sugar.
That made Diego a little suspicious. “Why is there a skull on the altar, too?”
“You know, the calaveras are simply a reminder that death is a part of life. But there’s no need to be afraid of death,” she continued. “Here in Mexico, we’re cheerful and even laugh about death. We know that the deceased are always with us, even if they no longer live here.”
It was evening by the time the altar was ready. The family then went to the cemetery together. Everything there was filled with lights and flowers. People stood by the graves, honoring their deceased loved ones. It wasn’t a quiet commemoration—no, stories from the past were told, and songs were sung. Diego listened intently, and even though he had never met his grandfather, he still felt very close to him.
And so, the Día de los Muertos taught the little boy that the memory of the deceased always lives on—in the hearts of those who love them.
Photo credit: Ingrid Müller
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