Today is the Day of the Dead. El día de los muertos.
No one celebrates this day like the Mexicans.
I'm not Mexican, but we grew up celebrating the holiday. Most countries with a Catholic tradition do. I remember being a child and going to the cemetery bearing flowers for people long gone who I did not know.
This year, for obvious reasons, the holiday -- one where we celebrate life, both the life of our deceased ancestors and the good things in this life -- has special meaning to me.
I am coming to terms with the death of my father. I have to. But the interesting thing is that I am also coming to term with death in general. We all have to.
That sounds more morbid than it should. I don't mean it that way.
Which is why this day holds such special meaning for me. Death is not to be feared. It is a part of life. It is to be celebrated. And we can never forget those we love that leave before us.
They are in a place we do not know, but we can still share with them the world they know.
We are in a good place. Being alive, in this earth, at this time, is good. In fact, it's so good that the departed want come back and visit.
My tradition holds that they do. I love that.
Let's celebrate with them. For them.
Let's have fun.
All this to say, ¡Feliz Día de los Muertos!
Eat, drink and be merry -- for those you love who can't be here with you and the ones that are here with you now.