A Season of Ofrendas
By: Craig Dresang, CEO, YoloCares
In her 1995 book, “Dwellings: A Spiritual History of the Living World,” poet and author Linda Hogan writes: “Walking, I can almost hear the redwoods beating. And the oceans are above me here, rolling clouds, heavy and dark. It is winter and there is smoke from the fires. It is a world of elemental attention, of all things working together, listening to what speaks in the blood. Whichever road I follow, I walk in the land of many gods, and they love and eat one another. Suddenly all my ancestors are behind me. Be still, they say. Watch and listen. You are the result of the love of thousands.”
The idea that we are the product of generations of love is not a new concept. All Saints Day, the day after Halloween, is an acknowledgment that our ancestors remain present in our lives . . . whether we recognize them or not. Each person is the result of love and connection that came long before we ever took a first breath. Our inheritance is found in the lives our ancestors lived, and in the values, character traits, aspirations, and stories they held close. These ancestors shape who we are through both inherited biology and cultivated behaviors and ideas about ourselves and the world. Without their presence, we would not exist.
Every autumn, this tribute to the dead is on full display at YoloCares. Walking into the lobby of our Davis campus, visitors are immediately greeted by a colorful ofrenda. An altar that reminds us of deceased loved ones and simultaneously honors and celebrates all that was special to them. Members of the community, along with YoloCares staff and volunteers, welcome back the souls of their departed relatives for a brief reunion that includes a vibrant display of festive and colorful decorations, flowers, photos, candles, food, and drink.
Dia de los Muertos, otherwise known as Day of the Dead, is a blend of ancient indigenous traditions from Meso-American cultures like the Aztecs and Spanish Catholic observances. These pre-Columbian rituals, traditionally focused on honoring the dead as a continuation of life, were combined with Catholic holidays like All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day after the Spanish conquest. The resulting modern celebration is a rich fusion that honors ancestors, celebrates the lives of those who have passed, and acknowledges death as a natural part of the human experience. It is a holiday that encourages each of us to learn from our ancestors’ time on earth.
The poignancy of this holiday is not lost on those of us who call YoloCares home. The stories of Indigenous and Mexican Americans have been muted in history through systemic exclusion in education, media, and politics. Even worse, our collective history is marked with deliberate acts of discrimination and violence. Too often, the dominant culture has pressured people to assimilate and abandon their cultural identity. However, Dia de los Muertos offers time for people to reconnect with, and continue learning from, those personal histories.
Seeing the holiday through this lens prompted me, last year, to unbury the dead in my own family and revisit a very personal history. Inspired by the Dia de los Muertos festivities at YoloCares, my husband Joey and I decided to set up our own ofrenda at home. Embracing this 3,000-year-old tradition felt empowering and deeply meaningful. Pulling out old photos and memorabilia — and sharing stories connected to each image or item — was surprisingly therapeutic and comforting. Each evening, I would place freshly picked roses and colorful leaves, collected from my routine nightly dog walks, on the table next to framed pictures of my mom and other family members.
This newly discovered ritual inspired me to channel my mom’s voice in my writing for the past year. Like her, I have an incredibly supportive and loving husband who cheers my interests and nurtures the uniqueness that makes me who I am. My dad was certainly all of that for my mom. Yet, she also wrestled with loved ones who tried to shape
and silence her voice. She once told me that from childhood on, she was conditioned to keep peace by muting her opinions and perspectives or risk being iced out and alienated. It was a dynamic that she had to manage until she died at 60.
If conflict appeared on the horizon, she would often proclaim that she was Switzerland (not just remaining neutral and out of the fray, but invisible). Being Switzerland came with a heavy toll. And in the end, and at the end of her life, I wonder if it served her well. In her final years, those who alienated her never reaped the benefits of full reconciliation, and my mom was robbed of a chance to be the beneficiary of mended relationships and the love and learning that could have resulted. She understandably sacrificed her voice because she believed she had something more precious to gain, and lose, in doing so.
I now think the perceived benefits of “falling in line” were illusions. Wherever her spirit resides on this Hallows’ Eve, it’s up to her to decide if it was worth the expensive price she paid. I’ve learned from her incredible strength, and her choices. If she could return and walk among us today, I think she might tell me to make different choices than she did. A few years before she died, when she was in the depths of processing the complexity of her own family network, she told me, “If you ever have to deny your voice to keep a relationship, then that relationship was never real to begin with.”
Her words resonated with me then and they still do. Our ability to have truthful conversations and work through conflict together is what made the two of us so close. We could see things differently and disagree, but still love, support, and fully accept each other. So, during this season before All Saints Day, I choose to honor and celebrate the light and the unconditional acceptance that my mom gave to me and to her family.
Leave a Reply