Shortly after my grandmother Antonia Laborin passed away, I struggled with loving her and being perplexed at her toughness — indeed, sometimes hysterical and violence. That was in October of 1998. Her passing was on the heals of Lucy Jones, my sister’s mother-in-law’s early passing. Just weeks before my other sister’s father-in-law Big Leonard Castro passed.

So we made an altar. My dad, Ed Madrid, is prominent. He passed in 2012. His mom (Josefina Lizarraga Madrid, or Welita Fita) and his brothers are represented in their Sunday best, in wedding attire or in military uniforms. My mother-in-law Nellie passed in 2008 is there, too. Many years before, in 1977, my 10 year old sister, Lisa Madrid, died in a car accident and she is in a several frames.

Rather than succumbing to the geographic distance, we opted to grow closer  and we put up their pictures in the hallway with a few celebratory Dia de los Muertos decorations. These form the backbone of a private family altar.

No artists’ renditions or exhibit here.

With the help of our sons, Lorenzo and Miguel,  we put up little mementos for each. Mamagrande’s was a tiny ceramic party favor she got when we went to a wedding in Douglas, AZ, the summer of 1982 when I lived with her. Devoted Lucy got Virgen de Guadalupe pictures. Big Leonard’s favorite Merritt cigarettes were there for him. For my dad there’s a little yellow school bus, so much a part of his identity. Lisa’s picture is accompanied by “Buffy makers,”  the things that made her hair into pony tails.

Over the years, the altar has grown. So has my understanding of the holiday that was becoming popular through media reports and photos glowing orange from candlelight and marigolds in the Mexican state of Oaxaca. We’ve added meaningful things over the last 20 years. Miguel made a special tribute to our family dog Lycos.

We come to March 2018. On successive Mondays, my 98 year-old  father in law, Leobardo Arroyo died, then my sister-in-law Eloise Arroyo and then my wonderful uncle Tom Garcia. Their passing is fresh and sometimes I forget they won’t be here for the holidays.

This year Luis arranged the offerings and photos and expanded the single altar, taking up two cabinets. One altar has a cup of coffee from Jack in the Box for Leobardo who walked daily to the Jack in the Box through the end of 2017 up to the eve of his 98th birthday. He bought a cup of Jack in the Box coffee and boasted he was tricking the fast food place because he would “sneak” a second cup “without paying!”

My Tio Tommy loved to play cards. He played with anyone foolish enough to think they could win. Pennies were the ante. He took Luis to the cleaners many times on our occasional visits to Oracle, AZ.

It’s time for the altar to come down and now I feel sad. Not that these special people are gone. No. That is part of life and I am honored to have been in their lives.

My sorrow is simply that the altar comes down. Yet the annual tradition of putting up the photos and the ritual of  putting away the mementos is cyclical like life and death itself. May all the special people in our family who’ve passed away, in whatever version of existence, know that we honor them and miss them. We remember them.