
The last time I saw my father alive was at the International Airport in Mexico City, on 14th August 2019, on my way to my second home, Switzerland. Little did I know all the events that would have unfolded after that vacation trip to my homeland, Mexico.
It’s been over fifteen years since I smelled cempasúchil flower (marigold). With its beautiful aroma, this vibrant orange flower brings back memories of home. It is full of petals that look like finely cut confetti or “papel picado” that are so close together that they shape the flower. It’s a great little button of petals. It is a peculiar color, not my favourite but enough to captivate me. This flower directly reminds me of the day of the dead, the aroma of home, a mixed smell of "veladoras" which are the special candles that we light for our dead, the “cempasúchil” flower, the home-made food, and the incense. Yet, I can hardly remember it. It’s been about fifteen years without smelling it.
The cempasúchil blooms during the autumn season in Mexico, specifically in November. I hadn’t been in Mexico at that specific time until 2021. Yet, something inside me hesitated to smell it again, as if I wanted to prolong my enduring sense of nostalgia for this flower.
This is the flower we use to decorate our “altar,” the offering we put up for your loved ones who passed away. On the day of the dead, our departed loved ones have the chance to visit us in this world of the living. To guide their spirits back to us, we put up the “altar.” This can be as simple as a photo of our relatives, cempasúchil flowers, their favorite dish, drinks, or anything they loved. We also light incense and candles to lead their souls to this dimension and leave water for their spirits. We know it’s important leave additional water for other spirits who might have lost their way. The flowers, the candles, and the incense play a pivotal role in guiding their souls.
As a child, I used to be afraid of encountering a departed relative on my way to the toilet during those nights. I would do my best to avoid getting up at all costs. As I grew older, I came to appreciate the festivity at home, but I was also perplexed by my parents' sadness on those days, especially my father's, who lost his mother when he was still a teenager. It was a profound sorrow for him, as he had to bury his mother on his birthday. It's only now that I can truly understand his pain and nostalgia.
I dream of smelling the flowers, but for fifteen years, I could not go to Mexico during the flower season. Yet, 2021 was different. I had the opportunity to visit Mexico in November 2021 when the flower blooms. I arrived on 16 November, though, missing the main “día de Muertos” celebration on the 1st and 2nd of November. But the specific date no longer mattered. By that point, it had been over a year since my dad passed away on 11th July 2020. Despite the passage of time, I haven’t done anything so far. No altar, no photo, no favorite dish, no pan de muerto, no drinks, no candles, no water, no orange flower. In Switzerland, the cempasúchil flower is nowhere to be found. And I thought it might be hard for my dad to visit me all the way from Mexico. I am uncertain about how such interaction works in the mystical realms of life and death.

What I do know is that I am not ready yet to embrace this tradition. I refused to do it, I resisted creating an altar, and I knew my mum was backing me up. I guess this was my denial of accepting that he’s gone. I understand the significance of our tradition, but being far from Mexico makes it feel less tangible. I still hold on to the hope that he will call or text me again, even though we were never great at speaking on the phone. He was always busy with his job and travel but excelled in messaging. Sometimes, we didn’t talk for months, so why would this be any different?
I thought that if I didn’t set up the “altar”, my dad might be somewhat disappointed and a bit angry at me and decide to visit me in my dreams. I hadn’t dreamt of him since he passed. But I was wrong. He didn’t visit me that night or any night after that. I blame my family in Mexico, who included his photo in their “altar”, which requires him to visit them, leaving him with no time to pass by to see me. I found no signs anywhere, no feelings, no sensations, and I experienced nothing out of the ordinary. But I continue to wait for his visit, I will keep waiting for him to visit me somehow, someday.
The last time I saw my father alive was at the International Airport in Mexico City. We were late for our flight, so the goodbye moment was done in a rush. We used to arrive five hours early, giving us time to share a meal, have coffee together, take some photos, and hug each other warmly before parting ways. However, on that day, 14th August 2019, we skipped our usual ritual. There was no shared meal, no coffee, no photos. We did share a hug, but today I realise, it was not enough. After passing through security, I cried, and I still remember getting my eyes full of water and being unable to say a word. My parents waited on the other side to wave goodbye to me and my husband. My father was wearing a red shirt or polo; he held my mum in a tight embrace, and they both waved at us. My husband and I waved back. That’s the last memory I have of seeing him alive in person, and at that moment, I had no idea it would be the last time I would ever see him.
Note: The original piece was written in 2021 and edited in October 2023. Sometimes, it takes time to revisit the past with a fresh sense of love and perspective before we can share what lingers deep within us.
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