These are the lyrics to the song little Miguel, in a crackly, desperate voice, sings to his great grandmother after coming back from the Land of the Dead, in an effort to try to get his Mama Coco to rekindle the memory of her father before his soul is forgotten forever.

Disney’s Coco gives a really beautiful animated depiction of the longstanding tradition of Dia de los Muertos in our beloved Mexico. I remember distinctly sitting on my couch and hearing the first two lines of this song and immediately feeling chills throughout my entire body. Chills were quickly followed by an uncontrollable sobbing for about two hours after my first time watching Coco.

I watched Coco just a few months after losing my little brother, Aron, to suicide. Like many suicide survivors and folks navigating the death of a close one, the loss left a big nasty reservoir of confusion, guilt and pain. This being the first close loss I had experienced, it left me in a very lost state.

Drowning myself with distractions that manifested themselves in the form of unhealthy relationships, taking on many responsibilities to ease the feeling of unworthiness, alcohol and drugs. After reaching out for help, I came to understand how the death of Aron was affecting my personal life. Death is so weirdly complex, and I don’t think anyone is really equipped with the tools to navigate a loss like this and I’m incredibly grateful for the folks that have helped me on my path with healing.

Coco played a huge role in my healing process and how I look at death and life and what the next couple of years would look like.

Other than an altar and honoring the dead, I didn't know much about Dia de los Muertos growing up in Kentucky. My parents talked about how they celebrated back in Mexico, getting together with family and neighbors taking fresh flowers to the tombs, bringing a mariachi and taking their loved one’s favorite meal or beer.

The tradition didn’t continue for them in the states though. My parents have resided in Oldham County, KY for about 29 years. My parents were just a couple of the 20 Mexican folks that lived in the entire county and there wasn’t a community big enough to share the tradition with.

There was a part of me that felt silenced, at the core I was this human whose Mexican identity was such a big part of him but there was no room or space for that part to be known in the good ole’ country town of LaGrange, KY. I found a sense of what home was during our visits to Mexico (that I was so lucky to have every few years), visits to the yearly multicultural WorldFest event in Louisville, the quinceañeras, the exuberantly celebrated baptisms: where you bring the whole ass banda, coolers full of cerveza, food for days and dancing all night.

Through watching Coco, I was immediately transported to the little pueblito my parents are from in Mexico, Taretan, Michoacan. Taretan, a small town where the epicenter is a beautiful plaza, surrounded by colorful, colonial style buildings, brick roads, señoras/señores hustlin' in the streets selling snacks, ice cream, shining shoes etc. The pueblito is surrounded by agricultural lands, filled with guayaba, sugar cane, blackberries and some avocados. 

I knew Dia de los Muertos was a tradition I wanted to keep alive and I feel so lucky to be surrounded by a group of folks that share the same passion as the FOKO Familia. Paco, the best sidekick, best Chef and business partner at FOKO and an immigrant from Tlaxcala, Mexico is always super passionate about continuing our traditions with a twist here in Louisville, which has been his home for the past 11 years. And Diego, our beloved Pastry Chef, shaman, and sweetest biker boy, an immigrant from Oaxaca, Mexico where the tradition of Dia de los Muertos is known to be one of the most vibrant and tradition filled.

In November 2020, Through all the hustle and bustle the fam at FOKO found time to set up an altar at our newly opened brunch restaurant. A magical and healing experience is the least I can say about the tradition, a time and space to celebrate everything we got to experience with our loved ones that have passed on.

The altar is set up with a picture of your loved one, along with something that resembles something they enjoyed doing. Most are filled with favorite foods, drinks, tequila bottles, cigarettes etc. This year, COVID-19 changed everything about life in general. We were ready to do it big this year, and we tried to modify the event to make it COVID-friendly, but with the cases at an all-time high we made the tough decision to cancel the event and wait for next year.

It was going to be filled with all the amazing foods, musical entertainment, and of course a big beautiful altar. The altar and the traditional pan de muerto were the only things we were able to celebrate. Pan de muerto, a traditional sweet bread made by Diego for Dia de los Muertos, was sold in the pastry case at FOKO. Although, folks weren't able to celebrate physically in person with us, they were able to bring a piece of Dia de los Muertos home with them or see our altar via social media. At the center of our altar was a portrait of Breonna Taylor from Breonna's Square, taken by Latinx photographer Gary Barragan.

Dia de los Muertos hit different this year – not only because of COVID but also because of the fresh, lingering and hurtful memory of losing members of this community to reckless, negligent and terroristic behavior. Those who still had too much life to live, but it serves as a reminder that the fight for equality, equity, inclusivity and racial justice is far from over.

“You cannot selectively numb emotion. When we numb [hard feelings], we numb joy, we numb gratitude, we numb happiness,” this is a quote from Brene Brown’s Ted Talk on vulnerability that has stuck with me. I’m realizing, through this healing process, that my ability to feel pain allows me to feel joy also. I hope that Dia de los Muertos continues to serve as a space where the duality of emotions that loss brings can be celebrated.