First Día de Los Muertos

This past Wednesday, Nov. 2, was All Souls Day, or as our Latin friends say, Día de Los Muertos -- Day of the Dead. This year the day took on particular poignancy as my daughter Emily and I traveled to Holy Cross Cemetery in Culver City, CA, to pay our first visit to the grave of my brother Bob.
Bob passed away in early August, and we laid him to rest at Holy Cross. The cemetery was a different place Wednesday than it was on the day of his burial -- cooler weather for sure, summer's harsh sunlight replaced by the softer rays and longer shadows of mid-autumn, plus the grass is gradually growing in seamlessly over my brother's grave.
And then there were the crowds -- hundreds, maybe thousands of persons scattered across the sprawling grounds, with their cars parked along the roadways. Some came alone, others in small groups, and still others in large, extended families. They were all there, of course, to remember, honor, and spend time with deceased loved ones. Some brought lawn chairs, some had picnic lunches, some sang, and others kneeled in prayer.
It would seem, too, that most came with flowers, specifically marigolds, an age-old tradition for this holiday. Countless bunches of bright orange and yellow blooms adorned gravesites across the hillside cemetery, especially the newer sections, where plenty of family and friends are still around to place them. We brought our flowers and put them in the vase at the base of Bob's grave. Then, per Latin custom, Emily took time to sprinkle some tiny petals atop the grave marker.
All this has become a big deal across the USA (or at least the Southwest) in recent years. But when I was Emily's age, I'd never even heard of Day of the Dead, even though I grew up in Southern California and had my share of Mexican friends. Maybe their families didn't celebrate the day, or they did, but the subject never came up in conversation. Of course, Latin culture hadn't reached the American mainstream in those days, let alone become somewhat cool. (E.G., how many of you or your kids/grandkids have seen the movie "Coco"?)
The first I learned of this came while living in Mexico City back in the 1990s and marrying into a Mexican family. I never gave it more than passing interest, though, and probably wouldn't now if I didn't work in the cemetery/funeral business. Emily, meanwhile, has embraced certain parts of her half-Mexican heritage, Day of the Dead included, even though she stayed with me after her mother and I parted paths years ago. She thoroughly enjoyed Wednesday's outing, and I'm sure we'll be back next year and every year after that, as long as we live reasonably close. I'm sure too that Bob's widow Eva, who lives in Mexico, will be grateful for that.