Leaning Into the Pain of Remembrance: A Guided Ritual for Grounding Grief and Celebrating Connection
Photo by char campos perez
Driving forty minutes to a rural nursery was my last option. When I finally found the cempasúchil (Mexican Marigolds), the car filled with their sweet, citrus-y aroma. As the scent settled, a warm ache rose in my throat and a deep sadness swept over me. I began to remember the many people I would have to add to our ofrenda this year. This time of year is one of the moments when I deliberately slow down and create a space to invite loved ones who have passed into the present.
Dia de los Muertos is celebrated throughout Latin America, and its expression varies by region and by family. This year we started early, crafting paper cempasúchil days in advance and visualizing how we would assemble the altar. The practice is inherently bittersweet. I find great joy in gathering the items each loved one cherished, yet when I lay out their photos, I’m confronted with how much time has passed—or how little. The process can feel painful, and yet it grounds me. Smelling the cempasúchil again, tasting pan dulce (sweet bread), pouring Mexican Coke into cups, dusting off old photographs, and printing recent ones are what weave together the altar. I remind myself that the warmth and heaviness I feel in my throat and chest are the physical sensations of grief. There are a lot of deep slow breaths in this process, a lot of pauses. These slow pauses invite me to smell the cempasúchil, smell the sweetness of the pan dulce, feel the texture and softness of the petals, and notice all the colors that I am surrounded by.
Our family group chat is filled with pictures of each other’s altars. It’s striking to see how each generation’s display differs: siblings now include partners, children now bring their own families, and pets find a place on the table. When we eventually visit one another, sharing a meal opens space for stories we’ve never heard before. The pain of missing them remains, yet laughter and joy, and intentional care emerge alongside it. Contrary to the darkness often associated with funerals, this tradition bursts in color. The week of Dia de Los Muertos provides intentional space to grieve, discuss the impact of those we’ve lost, and to honor the ongoing relationships we hold.
If you feel called to this tradition, I encourage you to lean into its bittersweet nature. Create your own altar and consider what your loved one would have wanted (i.e. their favorite food, a pet’s photo, a piece of clothing, a journal, a trophy, a book) anything that reflects them. As you assemble the altar, attend to your body. Notice sensations in your body (i.e. throat, chest, and hands). Breathe deeply whenever a wave of sadness moves through you. If you are having trouble connecting with your body, use your hands as guides to provide yourself with touches of comfort (i.e. put your hand to your chest and feel your warmth, your heartbeat, or focus on the movement of your breath). If it becomes overwhelming, pause, step away for a few minutes, and return when you are ready to reconnect. Altars often take weeks to complete, so be gentle with yourself. Once finished, spend a moment recalling shared times, if you like, invite family and friends over, write letters, play their favorite music, and allow the pain to coexist with the joy you shared. There isn’t a set date to dismantle the altar. Some families keep it year-round, adding to it each season; others gradually disassemble it after the holiday. Grief is a journey, some days feel lighter and others feel heavier. Whether you maintain the altar permanently or temporarily, shared memories and your connection with them remain within you.
