I recently watched the animated film "Coco." The idea of going was to connect with my childhood self. The one, I recall, where I'm standing in the center of my parents’ hometown, in the town square, to be exact, a few days prior to the passing of my maternal grandfather due to pancreatic cancer. I stood in confusion wondering what was happening with his life, believing that he would slowly recuperate, although the inevitability of his departure was surrounding my vision in each direction I glanced. I was a witness to his weak, thin body and of his inability to form words that would go through his tongue. That just was not an ability he possessed.

I was also confused with the decorations and color schemes that lay before me. I was somewhat nervous at the number of altars constructed by the various schools in that town. I was observing each one in fear, and to top it off, it was night time. Eventually, I would see people cleaning and painting the town cemetery, preparing for El Día de Los Muertos (Day of the Dead). It just so happened to take place a few days prior to the passing of my grandfather. A death that physically took place, yet, after nine years, I am still not able to grasp.

It could be that my relationship with him was once a physical barrier. A distance of thousands of miles was there to separate us. Thousands of wounds were formed. Thousands of unshared knowledge was very present. I only had the advantage of seeing him every two years. This created a strange reflection. Because in the mirror, I saw the same image as if he were still alive. Nothing had changed. In that mirror, I could pretend that my grandfather was still in Mexico. That our distance was the only barrier from seeing him. It still felt normal. Until six years would go by when I could finally step foot into the room that had seized him away.

Now, I am left with a yearly reminder, during El Día de Los Muertos. During that time I feel him present more than ever. Which could be due to the fact that my soul is fighting against an extinction of him, in my memory. Creating a fear of voicing this internal battle of remembering this loss after years.

I do not know what is going on within me. I do know the lack of tears that flowed down my eyes the moment he passed away. I felt a strange sensation of sadness and confusing that roamed around me as fog, but the tears never arrived. Causing guilt in me. And now, I am left with an urgency to write letters and speak with my grandfather. All of this was able to connect me with the characters in the film. Each experience and instinct I have dealt with are now, immensely valid. The mirror itself was valid.

Thanks to the film, I was centered back to my roots. Roots that are known for their remembrance. I can celebrate those of the past through a poem or a letter without shame. Revive the conversations that were left without completion. I can prolong the sharing of experiences with my grandfather, because it is evident that at least once a year, my grandfather is very present, and lives within me every other day of the year.