It’s hard to comprehend the amount of loss we’ve faced in the last two and a half years. Partly because it feels so unfathomable, and partly because American culture doesn’t often prioritize remembrance rituals, instead opting to move on.
Studies show that nearly 8 million kids lost a parent or primary caregiver due COVID-related causes. If the statistics and personal anecdotes point to such huge losses, what are the impacts of these deaths on our communities? How do we begin to heal?
For me, Día de Muertos, has been a way to take stock, to honor my ancestors, and to process death. Last year, I was thinking about this need to process what we’ve been through during the pandemic at a neighborhood level. I thought about the people we lost in this small pocket of LA. Who were they? How did they help shape the community? Who misses them?
I decided to create a community ofrenda, and together with the help of Ali and Jimmy, we created fliers asking people to submit photos, names, and messages to loved ones who had passed during the pandemic.
People submitted photos of friends, parents, siblings, and even local mom and pop business regulars like Gladis who frequented California Grill for years, stopping by almost daily to chat and be in community.
Sarah Bennett, a journalism educator and friend of the newsletter, designed a zine from the submissions. We then gathered materials for the ofrenda: cempasuchil flowers, papel picado, candles, copal incense, pan de muerto, coffee, fruit and other food items the spirits of those who passed might enjoy.
Ali and I built the ofrenda along the exterior wall of California Grill, a Salvadoran restaurant in Virgil Village that serves as a sort of community meeting point for many of the neighborhood’s Central American residents. We placed the zines and photos along the altar. During the days leading up to Día de Muertos on November 2nd, people dropped off their own photos, offerings like candy, and candles with names of people they wanted to honor.
The neighborhood ofrenda was a small gesture, but it offered a moment to remember, to celebrate life, and to begin the healing process.