Remember Me-Happy Day of the Dead

Have you seen the 2017 film Coco? I just came back from San Miguel de Allende (which will be a future article) and a local tequila and taco tour guide mentioned Coco,. so we decided we would watch it . I’m glad I did . There's a moment in Pixar's Coco that stops your heart. When young Miguel realizes what happens to those who are forgotten—how they fade away, unable to visit their families—you suddenly understand something profound about memory, love, and the Mexican tradition of Día de los Muertos. If you haven't watched this 2017 masterpiece yet, use some of October to remedy that.

Coco doesn't just tell a story; it opens a window into a culture that celebrates life by embracing death as part of the journey. The haunting melody of "Remember Me" carries with it a truth that resonates in every marigold petal, every sugar skull, every candle flickering on an altar during Día de los Muertos: our loved ones live on as long as we remember them. In Mexican tradition, the dead aren't gone—they're just visiting from another room.

This stands in beautiful contrast to how we typically handle death in the United States. We mourn in black, we whisper in funeral parlors, we speak of moving on. But in Mexico, families gather on November 1st and 2nd to throw a party for their ancestors. They prepare favorite foods, share beloved stories, and welcome spirits home with joy instead of tears. It's not about grief—it's about gratitude for the time shared and the love that transcends mortality.

Where I live in Puerto Peñasco the town embraces this tradition with open arms on November 1st and 2nd along Rodeo Drive. The streets transform into a vibrant celebration where calaveras (colorful skull decorations) tell stories of those who've passed, and elegantly dressed Catrinas remind us that death itself can be beautiful. Local families create elaborate altars adorned with marigolds, photos, and the favorite treats of their departed loved ones. Contest prizes await the most creative displays, but the real reward is witnessing a community that refuses to let anyone be forgotten.

Consuelo Chavez, owner of Consuelo's shop on Rodeo Drive, captures it perfectly: "It is a celebration, a time of good memories, filled with warmth, laughter, and a reminder that the memories of our loved ones will forever live on. We enjoy remembering our loved ones, the things they taught us and the things they loved. Makes us happy remembering."

This isn't unique to Coco. Mexican cinema has long celebrated these deep family connections and traditions that honor the past while embracing the present. Like Water for Chocolate weaves magical realism through family recipes passed down through generations. Instructions Not Included will leave you sobbing over a father's boundless love for his daughter. The Book of Life offers another animated journey through Día de los Muertos traditions. Under the Same Moon explores how family bonds transcend physical separation.

These films, like the traditions they portray, understand something we sometimes forget in our rushed modern lives: family isn't just about who's sitting around your table today. It's about honoring those who sat at that table before you, who taught you how to love, who live on in your stories and your choices.

When you stroll through Puerto Peñasco during Day of the Dead weekend, you'll see this philosophy in action. Children paint their faces as joyful skeletons, embracing the belief that death is simply part of life's journey. Families welcome strangers to hear stories about their altars. The air fills with the aroma of pan de muerto and traditional foods. Every skull decoration is unique, reflecting the personality of someone deeply loved and deeply missed.

But here's what makes this celebration so powerful: you don't have to be Mexican to participate. Visitors are welcomed to create their own small altars, to light candles for their own departed loved ones, to experience the healing that comes from celebrating rather than simply mourning. You can honor your grandmother's memory with the same joy a local family honors theirs.

As Miguel learns in Coco, the real death isn't when our hearts stop beating—it's when we stop being remembered.

So watch Coco if you haven't already. Let it open your heart to a different way of thinking about family, memory, and love.

Because in the end, as Coco teaches us, we all want to be remembered.