Día de los Muertos: The Ones Who Are Still Setting the Table

My grandma Donna and grandpa Harry knew how to live.

They traveled the world, drank martinis with dinner, and believed in working hard enough to enjoy the

hell out of the rest of it.

When I was a little girl, Donna had some very specific advice for me. Don't get married. Get your education. Do whatever you want with your life.

Not exactly the advice you'd expect from a grandmother of her generation, but that was Donna.

Harry's philosophy was a little more straightforward. Work hard, play hard.

Between the two of them, I learned that being responsible and enjoying your life weren't mutually exclusive. You could work hard, build something for yourself, and still make room for a fabulous vacation and a cocktail.

They've both passed now, but I recognize them in myself all the time.

When I choose the vacation over the sensible thing to do with my money, there they are. When I put on music and dance around my kitchen, they're right there with me.

And when someone tries to tell me what I should do with my life and my response is, "I do what I want," well, that's definitely Grandma Donna talking.

I don't need to summon them to feel connected to them. Sometimes I just need to turn up the music.

Remembering the people who made us

With Día de los Muertos approaching, I've been thinking about what it means to remember the people who came before us.

Día de los Muertos is a Mexican tradition, celebrated in different ways by different families and communities, in which loved ones who have died are remembered and welcomed through offerings, food, photographs, stories, and gatherings. It's a celebration rooted in family, culture, and a relationship with death that deserves to be understood on its own terms.

It's not my tradition, and I don't want to pretend that it is. But I deeply appreciate the attention it gives to remembering those who are no longer physically here.

Because I've been thinking about Donna and Harry, and how much of them is still alive in the choices I make.

We tend to talk about inheritance as the things people leave behind. A house, jewelry, photographs, maybe a box of belongings nobody knows what to do with.

But what about the parts of ourselves that came from them?

The way we laugh. Our stubbornness. The music we love. Our willingness to take a chance on something that makes absolutely no financial sense but makes life a whole lot more interesting.

I think about how different my life might have been if Donna had encouraged me to be a good girl, find a husband, and follow the rules.

Instead, she encouraged me to have a life of my own.

And I did.

Not always gracefully. Certainly not always sensibly. But I've made choices, taken risks, changed directions, and followed my curiosity into places I never could have imagined as that little girl listening to her grandmother.

I wonder how much of that began with Donna telling me I could.

What we choose to carry

Of course, not everything we inherit from our families is something we want to keep.

Some of us grew up around fear, anger, secrecy, or expectations that had very little to do with who we actually were. We can carry those things for years without realizing how much they're influencing our decisions.

I've spent a good part of my life looking at those patterns, both personally and through my work with others.

And I've learned that recognizing where something came from doesn't mean we have to keep living it.

But I think we sometimes become so focused on what needs healing that we forget to notice what was wonderful.

The people who encouraged us. The ones who made us laugh until our stomachs hurt. The person who believed in us before we had any idea what we were capable of.

The ones who showed us that life could be enjoyed.

Donna and Harry gave me that.

They weren't teaching me some grand spiritual philosophy. They were living their lives, and I was paying attention.

That's how so much gets passed down, isn't it? Not through some formal conversation about values or purpose, but through what we see people do.

And sometimes we don't realize what they gave us until years after they're gone.

Still here, in their own way

In my work with the Akashic Records, questions about family and ancestral patterns sometimes come up. People want to understand why certain experiences repeat, where a belief originated, or why they feel connected to someone they've lost.

I approach those conversations with curiosity rather than certainty. I share what I perceive, but I don't pretend to know everything about someone else's family or what happens after we die.

And while I've had spiritual experiences that have expanded my understanding of connection, I don't think we need an extraordinary experience to recognize the ways someone continues to influence our lives.

Sometimes it's right there in the kitchen.

I look at this photograph of Donna and Harry, smiling together, and I think about how much they enjoyed being alive.

I miss them. Of course I do.

But I also get to enjoy the life they encouraged me to have.

And I think that's a pretty wonderful way to remember someone.

So this year, as Día de los Muertos approaches, I'll be thinking about the people who helped shape my life, especially these two.

Maybe I'll have a martini with dinner.

Maybe I'll book another vacation I should probably save the money for.

And I'll definitely turn up the music.

With grace and gratitude,

Shannon

Your Spiritual BFF

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