Remembering in Color: What Día De Los Muertos Teaches Us About Death

“La muerte es democrática, ya que a fin de cuentas, güera, morena, rica o pobre, toda la gente acaba siendo calavera.”

"Death is democratic. At the end, regardless of whether you are white, dark, rich or poor, we all end up as skeletons."

- Jose Guadalupe Posada

Over the years, death was once familiar. In today's world, it is unfamiliar and feared most.

There was once a time when death was not something we hid from. Life expectancy was short and mortality was part of our daily existence. It was an ordinary thread woven into the fabric of life. We witnessed death frequently in our homes, taking care of loved ones as they took their final breath. Death was woven into our lives, much so, that infants weren't even given a name at birth until later years due to infant mortality. This was not out of coldness, but because loss was such a familiar companion. Infants were mourned, yes, but loss was familiar and seen as part of the cycle of life.

Back then, families washed and dressed their dead, which is known as an angel bath today that only death workers do. Communities came together to mourn and honor the deceased. There was no separation between life and death - only a continuation, a passing of form.

In today's Western culture, medicine has evolved greatly. But with the advancements, the distance grew between our relationship with our own mortality. We have entered an era of a "fix it" society. One that believes every problem/illness/disease has a cure. Every ailment has a treatment. And every ending can be hopefully postponed. Modern medicine has gifted us with longevity and comfort, but it has also created distance. We go to the doctor to avoid death, to extend time, to resist what once was simply part of being human and a normal part of life.

Because death is less visible these days, our fear of death has grown. Death is hidden behind hospital curtains/rooms, managed by professionals rather than families, and something we avoid discussing at all cost. It has become something to fear, something unnatural. We rarely speak of it and when it is spoken of, a shift of uncomfortableness carries throughout the room. We rarely plan for it. And in silence, our fears grow.

But what if it didn't have to be this way? What if we embraced this part of life much like we embrace birth? What if we spoke about death and celebrated this part of our human existence. Would our fears diminish?

Truth be told, death is inevitable. It is in the cards for you, me, and everyone that walks this earth. We can only run from it for so long.

Why not become comfortable with it when we still have the time. To make peace for yourself, myself, and the ones we love.

Because death is a natural part of life. In some cultures, it is something that is celebrated and honored.

What is Día de Los Muertos?

I recently hosted a grief group on November 1st, and to my surprise, all of the people who attended did not know what Día De Los Muertos was. I explained to them what this day is in the Mexican culture. I asked each one to go around and state their favorite memory or thing about the person that has passed in their lives. The results were positive. Each one thanked me because they were able to open up more than they ever had been able to before. It was amazing to see how just changing the perspective of death to a more positive one can help ease the discussion of death itself. It's not to say that it can take away the sadness, but it can help shift the lens on how we view death. Before the death, there was a life that gave us comfort, memories, and laughter. A person who filled our lives with warmth. They are not death; they were someone who was loved and still loved.

I come from a Hispanic background that includes the Mexican culture. In Mexico, at midnight of the 31st, begins the celebration of Día De Los Muertos. This celebration begins on November 1st and ends on the final hour of November 2nd. This is a celebration of those who have died and a way to honor and remember them.

To give you some background history, we must go back approximately 3000 years ago. This celebration dates back to when the Aztecs, Mayas, and Toltecs were around. These indigenous groups celebrated death long ago. They believed that those that have passed, traveled to a place known as Mictlan which was ruled by Mictlantecuhtli and Mictecacihuatl (Death God and Goddess). They believed that death was not an end, but merely a transformation into a new beginning in another form.

The Spanish colonizers introduced Catholicism to Mexico, and they brought their practice of All Saints' and All Souls' Days. When the two indigenous practices blended together, it created the colorful and heartfelt celebration we now know as Día De Los Muertos, The Day of the Dead.

The celebration has grown significantly in recent years. Several years ago, Mexico did not have the parades they have today. During these days, families gather to build ofrendas. These are altars adorned with marigolds (flowers that are said to call to the dead), candles, sugar skulls, photos, and offerings of foods and drinks. It is believed during these days, the veil between the living and dead is thin. The spirits of the departed return to visit the living. During these days, families hold vigil at the cemeteries. The Cemeteries glow with candlelight, laughter mingles with music, and stories fill the air between families.

This day is to not be mistaken as Halloween. Though, some families will open up their doors to show the colorful altars they have created. People are able to come in and enjoy food and drinks with other families. It is not a holiday of mourning, but a homecoming for the deceased. A reminder that love does not end at death and those who have died are never forgotten.

As you can see, death is part of my culture. Though sadness still exists, there is not the same level of fear that is often found in the Western culture. From a young age, we are surrounded by rituals of remembrance that remind us that death is not something to run from, but something to honor. Death is seen as a familiar part of life's rhythm. Through these traditions, it helps makes death feel familiar rather than foreign.

I understand why death can feel so overwhelming, especially in cultures and societies where it is rarely spoken about openly. Día De Los Muertos simply offers another lens. One that allows both grief and joy to coexist. It also gives a perspective on how the concept of death can be seen differently when it is an open topic. A topic that is often discussed which helps minimize the fear of death itself.

A Tale of Two Worlds: Celebration vs. Fear

When we look at Día De Los Muertos alongside the way death is treated in modern Western society, it feels like looking at two different worlds. In one, death is colorful, musical, and alive with memory. It's a tradition where families tell stories, share food, and laugh through tears. This isn't to say that sadness and fear do not exist, but death itself is excepted as being part of life. This celebration also is a reminder that death is not the end of love, but part of love's long journey.

In the other world, the one many of us live in today, death is tucked away and hushed. We speak about it quietly, if at all. Our rituals are shorter, and our conversations are more restrained. We shy away from the word "death" itself, replacing it with softer phrases like passed away, lost, or gone to a better place. These words are meant for comfort, to take away the sting from reality of our own mortality. The word "death" is treated like a nasty word, taboo like, as if this is a word you should not be saying in public or to others. But even these soft phrases we use to replace "death" with, distances us even further from the truth of what has happened and what will happen to all of us.

Recently, I was called out during a visit with my elderly client I take care of. She and I were discussing her feelings about death and her own mortality. I had gently said the word passing, and she looked me dead in the eyes and stopped me.

"Why don't you say death?" She asked.

"Call it what it is. We are not here to evade from it."

I couldn't help but laugh and tell her that she was absolutely right. Here I am, a death worker, someone who advocates for death positivity and I have conformed to using these softer phrases to help ease the discomfort of others.

Her words lingered with me. They were a quiet but powerful truth: we often avoid saying death because we have been taught to see it as ugly, harsh, or unkind. Yet naming it is an act of honesty, even reverence. When we call death by its name, we acknowledge it as part of our shared human story, not something shameful to hide from, but something that is part of our human existence. Something to understand, accept, and even prepare for.

Each month, I attend a Death Cafe. It's a safe and welcoming space where people gather to simply talk about death. There is no agenda, no judgement, just open conversation. And within these four walls, there's something profoundly freeing about being able to speak openly about the thing we fear most, death. Many of us have noticed how rarely these conversations happen outside of that room, how uncomfortable society still is with even mentioning death. Yet inside, something shifts.

What I have observed is that the more we speak about death, the less power fear holds over us. It's a kind of gentle exposure therapy. Each conversation softening the edge of the unknown. We may not have all the answers, but by naming our fears and sharing them aloud, they begin to loosen their grip. Talking about death doesn't have to erase its mystery, but it reminds us that we don't have to face it in silence.

In Día De Los Muertos, death is not an intruder. It's a guest welcomed with food, flowers, and memories. In Western culture, death is often kept outside the door, politely ignored until it forces its way in. Perhaps the lesson lies somewhere between. To allow death a seat at the table, to speak its name with both respect and tenderness, and to find meaning not in fear, but in remembrance and acceptance.

Healing Through Remembrance: A New Way Forward

Death, when we allow it, becomes one of our greatest teachers. It shows us that life is fragile and fleeting. Life is a momentary flicker that could fade at any time. My grandmother’s passing taught me this truth not in theory, but in the quiet ache of absence. Her death became a mirror, reminding me that none of us are promised tomorrow. Yet in that same mirror, I also saw the invitation to live differently. To love harder, to speak softer, to speak my truth, and to savor the ordinary miracles that make up a life.

In the Western world, we often treat death as something to tiptoe around. It's a shadow best left untouched. In my grief groups, I’ve witnessed how silence can settle like dust between family members after a loss, how the unspoken becomes its own kind of weight. But I’ve also seen what happens when the silence is broken. Shoulders lower. Breath returns. The air feels lighter. I once asked a woman who hadn’t spoken about her husband’s death if her avoidance might also be tied to her own fear of mortality. She paused, then nodded. In that moment, something in her began to loosen. Speaking death’s name, we found, did not make it larger. It made it gentler. It made it known. For the past few years, she had attempted to "forget" her husband's death. Anything that reminded her of him, she hid from view. But now, this conversation called something deeper within herself. It was her own fear of her own mortality. And within that recognition, she was able to be more comfortable with speaking about his death because her fear was named.

This is why I am drawn to Día de los Muertos. Not just because it's part of my culture, but because it's a celebration that meets death not with dread, but with laughter, music, and marigolds. In this tradition, the veil between worlds is not a wall but a doorway. The departed are invited back through candlelight and color, their presence woven into the rhythm of the living. It reminds us that remembrance can be joyous. That grief can carry laughter, and that love, when honored, never dies.

Perhaps this is what healing through remembrance truly means: not forgetting but transforming. To let death teach us how to live. How to create new ways of honoring, new rituals that are uniquely our own. Maybe it’s a candle lit at dawn, a favorite song played loud, a story retold at the dinner table. Maybe it’s cooking their favorite dish, or walking their favorite trail, whispering their name into the wind. These gestures, however simple, bridge the living and the dead. They remind us that though the form changes, the connection remains.

As the holidays near, those tender seasons where memory and absence intertwine, we can choose to create new traditions that carry both remembrance and renewal. Death, after all, does not end the story. It simply asks us to write the next chapter with deeper love, fuller breath, and an open heart.

Death simply asks us to live the next chapter more awake, more grateful, more alive. To remember that love is not bound by time. It only changes shape. And in that remebering, we keep both them and ourselves beautifully alive.

All Endings Can be New Beginnings

As I continue my work as a nurse and death doula, I carry these lessons with me. From my grandmother, from those I care for, from every grief group and quiet conversation about death. Each story reminds me that death is not an end, but a teacher that calls us back to the heart of living. My hope is that, through open conversation and the creation of our own traditions, we each find a way to celebrate those we’ve loved, to speak their names, and to live with a little more courage, tenderness, and color in their honor.

As the holidays approach, I know how heavy this season can feel. Traditions that once brought joy can stir deep ache in their absence. Yet within that ache lives the echo of love. The life, laughter, and memories that shaped us. I want to encourage you to hold space for your grief, to welcome it as a part of love’s lasting presence. Let yourself remember bravely.

Perhaps this year, you’ll find small ways to honor those you’ve lost. Lighting a candle, setting a place at the table, sharing a favorite story, or creating a new tradition that feels uniquely your own. Día de los Muertos reminds us that remembrance does not have to dim the light. It can become the light itself. May we step into this season with tenderness and courage, allowing the memory of those we love to guide us forward, one gentle breath at a time. And through this, may we make peace with death itself.