They Never Truly Left, What Building My First Ofrenda Taught Me About Love and Memory

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This year, inspired by a close friend honoring her beloved fur baby who recently past, I decided to build my very first ofrenda, the traditional altar set up for Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead). Rooted in indigenous Mexican traditions combined with later Catholic observances, this celebration is not about mourning or fear of death. It is an intentional, joyful invitation for our departed loved ones and pets to cross the veil and visit the living for a few sacred days.

Because I put mine together very last minute and was not able to follow standard traditional rituals, I was a bit worried that my very rudimentary ofrenda wouldn’t work. But I was soon to discover that you don’t need perfection, you just need intension and presence.

I excitedly set about gathered pictures that were long packed away who knows where, gathers what I had on hand that I thought was meaningful and built a makeshift altar … slices of traditional German stollen for my grandmother, beer for my grandfather, candies for my daughters, a fan, ring and handwritten note from my brother, my cat’s collars and hand made paw print Christmas ornaments along with protective crystals, candles and flowers I had in my garden.

Once it was all done I stepped back and gazed upon my ofrenda and the most amazing sense of love washed over me. What surprised me most was the atmosphere. It wasn’t heavy with grief or nostalgia. It felt effortless and familiar as if they had simply stepped back into the house for the holidays, living alongside us day to day as if no time had passed. No sadness, no pain, no grief! I could hear my brother’s laugh again, my grandmother’s comments about the stolen… it wasn’t as good as hers but it wasn’t bad… I felt all of them there with us in our home. It was so comforting and cathartic in a way that I can’t fully note here today as I write about this. Throughout the eight days I took special care with immense joy to maintain my ofrenda focusing on each special day and those commemorated.

Finally on November 3rd, the last night, the final goodbye… I lite the last candle said my goodbyes and headed to bed. Just before fully falling asleep I had a sudden, unmistakable vision of my grandmother gently taking one of my daughter’s hands, turning around, and walking peacefully into the light before the veil closed. They had all left and the portal was sealed. I was relieved to know they were back safely in the light and I had a profound feeling of just how special this moment was.

Now I must say, the true shift, the absolute absolution of any second guessing came the next morning when I walked into my office to dismantle the altar. The change in the room stopped me in my tracks. The warmth was gone. The energetic hum that had filled the room for days had completely vanished. The photos were just paper and frames. The mementos were just ordinary objects again. The vibration had dissipated entirely, leaving behind a stillness that proved without a shadow of a doubt that they had truly been there.

Building my ofrenda wasn’t about erasing or forgetting my grief, that just will never happen. But, it did teach me that death doesn’t have to be defined solely by sorrow or longing. When you make room to welcome them back, you realize the connection never broke because they are never truly gone. Wherever you believe our loved ones go, their presence remains woven into ours.

I’m already gathering ideas to prepare a more personalized ofrenda for next year. If you ever feel called to try it, make it your own. You may just find that on the other side of grief is the comfort of knowing love always finds its way back home.