Fated Encounter: El Dia de Muertos

It was November 2nd, the last day of El Dia de Muertos. Carmen Maria Isabella Sande Junquera entered the cathedral, pausing to dip her fingers in the holy water basin and bow to the crucifix while crossing herself. Candles lit the cathedral as far as she could see, their lights bouncing off the massive 24-karat décor. Though it was dimly lit, Carmen observed the church appeared to be vacant. Where was everyone? This was abuela’s funeral mass and her Abuelita had known more than half the town. It was unthinkable that no one had shown up for her funeral mass save herself.

Exceedingly perplexed by the situation, Carmen looked down. ¡Dios mío! Why in God's name was she wearing her best huipil or formal, multi-colored dress? She should be wearing traditional funeral attire. Her Mamá would never let her end of it! Nervously, she smoothed the black mantilla that covered her head. At least she’d shown some respect and worn the appropriate head covering. The black lace mantilla was special for it had belonged to Abuelita.

Best to take a seat and wait for the others to arrive. She started to proceed to her seat only to be surprised by what she saw and paused midway along the aisle. Who were those three people silhouetted by the dim lights, standing directly in front of the altar? It didn’t look like Father Junco or the altar boys. Whoever they were, Carmen did not know them and seriously doubted Abuelita had known them either.

¡Que extraño! What exactly was going on? This was all too strange, especially since no family or friends appeared to be in attendance.

Taking a deep breath, Carmen made her way to the altar, intending to only nod in greeting at the three unidentified figures before taking a seat to await her family’s arrival. As she neared the end of the aisle, however, she was able to better see those who stood there. Frightened, she dropped the pan dulce de muerto - or sweet bread - she had baked that morning and carried as she screamed. Now she was close enough, she could make out exactly who the three figures were and the thought horrified her. She'd met nary a one of them, and yet, Carmen strangely recognized all.

Standing directly in front, dead center, was none other than the esteemed Mexican artist known as simply as Frida. She was flanked by a female Catrina and a male Catrin, two skeletal figures, both equally garish and ghastly while superbly suited. The skeletons were the epitome of how Frida and her spouse, Diego Rivera, had depicted them in their artistic renditions. If not for the shock of seeing the three figures, Carmen would have been notably impressed.

¿Que diablos? Carmen muttered but then quickly reminded herself she shouldn't cuss, especially in church. Still, the situation she found herself in was alarming. The year was 1976, so Frida Kahlo had been dead for twenty-two long years. The uniceja - or unibrow - took precedence, just as it always did in the pictures Carmen had seen of the woman. Though in church, Frida wore traditional men’s attire: trousers, waistcoat, shirt, tie, jacket, and hat. Even so, she was brilliant, and all Carmen could do was stare, her mouth agape in wonder. Surely she was dreaming – or was she dead? The shocking thought took root.

Carmen had always admired Frida for not only her art, but her inclination in the way of progressive thought and action despite contrary beliefs during the years when she had lived. An artist herself - or rather a starving artist in pursuit of such a title - Carmen had longed to be much like the woman whose art and life she idolized. Never in her life, however, did she think she'd come face to face with the embodiment of such a well-known figure.

“Bienvenido, Carmen,” Frida smiled as though she knew Carmen's innermost thoughts and desires as she approached and lightly touched Carmen’s arm in welcome. “We have been awaiting your arrival.”

“You? Awaiting my arrival?” Carmen was dumbfounded while also being completely and utterly frightened by the situation in which she found herself.

“Sí, querida,” Frida waved her arm broadly before her. “We have all been anxious for the time you would join us.”

Carmen turned in the direction gestured by Frida and saw the entire basilica was now filled with la calavera or many skeletal figures, each dressed in their best formal attire. There were also others who were clearly musicians and artists. They wore clothing brightly arrayed with bold colors and décor.

Fear of the unknown gripped, twisting around Carmen’s heart and mind like an encroaching vine. She glanced down at the discarded pan dulce she had intended to leave on the altar to honor her Abuelita in the afterlife. Perhaps the pan dulce was hers instead because everything pointed to the fact she must be dead. Speaking of which, if that were the case, where in heaven’s name was Abuelita? Her grandmother should be there to embrace and guide her to the next life. This was beyond frightening - it was a pesadilla - or nightmare - from which she wished desperately to awaken.

Of a sudden, Frida turned to the right and greeted a figure who walked slowly toward them. ¡Finalmente! Illuminated by what appeared to be a thousand lights, Carmen’s abuela approached, looking as though she floated on the air. Her grandmother had never looked so lovely, so youthful, or so happy. Carmen’s heart filled with joy as she wiped at the tears that rolled uncontrollably down her face.

“¡Abuelita! ¡Estoy tan feliz de verte!” Never had she been so happy to see her grandmother!

“Te quiero, corazón. Todo está bien,” her grandmother replied, assuring her favored granddaughter she was loved and all was well. Comforted, Carmen closed her eyes as she felt her abuela's embrace and the warmth in her welcoming kiss upon tear-streaked cheeks.

After long moments, Carmen opened her eyes. Abuelita watched her closely, concern clearly etched across her brow. “It’s best you do not remember what brought you here and to me, querida,” she said with tenderness. “However, draw courage from the fact you are loved beyond measure - both in this world and the one you’ve recently left. Your life will be celebrated in ways you’ve only dreamt of thus far, mi corazón.”

¡Dios mío! It was not a dream after all. Her Abuelita had come not only to welcome bit also to guide her. Peace enveloped, invading to linger in waves of profound understanding as Carmen accepted her grandmother’s proffered hand. Glancing behind, she saw many familiar faces and loved ones now filling the basilica. They had come not only to celebrate Abuelita, but to celebrate Carmen’s life – and end – as well. This Dia de Muertos would be a memorable one that served Carmen in the new endeavors waiting for her on the other side.

As the Abuela and her favored granddaughter moved together, hand-in-hand toward a new realm, the haunting music of violins, guitars, and trumpets sounded, heralding their movements. The echoes of laughter, love, and the lyrics of a life well-lived as well as a life cut far too short cascaded, drifting in the air. Indeed, this Dia de Muertos had become a fated day of reckoning as well as a new beginning for both Abuelita and Carmen.