Héctor Castellanos Lara, award-winning artistic director of Cleveland's Dia de Muertos, has been running the event for 22 years. This year’s Skull and Skeleton Procession took place on Nov. 7, from 11 a.m-10 p.m. at the Cleveland Public Theatre campus, which has been collaborating with Castellanos Lara since 2008. 

Dia de Muertos is new for me. I have worked with Castellanos Lara a couple of times on other projects, and throughout that time, we have shared our stories. Both of us are Guatemalan, which made him hesitant to take over the Dia de Muertos event in Cleveland when it was originally offered to him.

“I am not even Mexican,” he said. “My grandmother used to take me to the graveyard (in Guatemala), but it is very different there. We quietly pray and bring water and flowers, but everyone is gone by the time it gets dark.”

That's a stark contrast from the way Cleveland celebrates Dia de Muertos, with more of a sense of Mexican traditions and culture on display. 

On Saturday, after 20 minutes of searching for a lot with an empty parking spot, I entered a bustling Gordon Square with local businesses decorated for the holiday, and people bustling toward the campus.

I entered Parish Hall to music being performed by Dueto Maravilla and vendors lining the sides of the hall. From carnitas jewelry to handmade stuffed animals, cempasúchil, and my favorite childhood trinket, Guatemalan trouble dolls, it was just enough to look at, and explore, without overwhelming the reason we were all there.
 

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Outside was the handmade graveyard, which Castellanos Lara and his team set up the morning of the event due to art being stolen in the past. People brought their own altars to set up and pray at, underneath the banners an international artist from England created.
 

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In the small church to the side were the main altars which artists had spent three months creating, each picture or installation telling a story of a life that was loved, and lost. A father from Guatemala, journalists killed reporting on Palestine. Memories.

Each altar was adorned with candles and flowers in a quiet, holy space that moved me to tears.

I also ran into Castellanos Lara, who greeted me with a hug and a surprise.
 

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“One of my artists, John, was also adopted from Guatemala, just like you,” Castellanos Lara said. “I will take you to him.”

John ended up being one of the face painting volunteers. As a long time friend of Castellanos Lara, he wandered into the event that day to say "hello" to Castellanos Lara, and ended up with a brush in his hand. In the true spirit of the holiday, we remembered and recognized the past we each did not have, and the people we lost from it. 

John was adopted at five months old and I at six, and we both had siblings we would never meet. A father who wasn’t in the picture, and mothers who gave us up. Neither of us had been back home, but he was able to find his adoptive mother on Facebook, though he has not reached out.

“Depending on your perspective, it’s hard. On one hand,” he said, “I would like to know my sibling in California, and to know more about who I am. On the other, I have an amazing family already, and I don’t know if she even cares.”

I was then sent over to the lady next to him, to get my own face painted for the festivities. After exchanging hellos, I asked her how she came to be a volunteer, and if she knew Castellanos.
 

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“Of course you know Héctor, yes, I do too,” she said. “I am his assistant at the art museum, and it is my first time face painting, though I come here every year. I figured, if I can do my daughter’s, I can do anyone's." 

I would have never known it was her first time face painting because the process was quick, timely and perfect. With my face soon painted, I felt much more like I belonged, and after seeing the community John had found after losing so much, I knew there was a space for me too. 

Castellanos Lara had told me earlier that people came from all over to this event, from Columbus and Cincinnati to New York and Pennsylvania. I believed him, but didn’t realize the impact until I saw one of my hometown church members show up, dressed with a skeleton face in a costume, preparing to stilt walk in the parade.

“You know this guy?” Castellanos Lara asked, just as surprised as I was. “He and his group are my stilt walkers.”
 

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We caught up for a while, before I went inside to get warm and reflect on the vibrant hall scene. I even saw people I knew from Cleveland State University, where I am a student. 

Before I knew it, it was 3:30 p.m., and the parade was kicking off. The streets were lined with multiple rows of people, a full downtown takeover. Two groups of dancers entertained the parade, with a mariachi band playing in the background, and children, adults, and entertainment groups alike bringing the Skull and Skeletons parade alive. In all the parades I’ve been to, I have never once heard people so loud and happy, with children running around with no candy to pick up, just music, community, and culture.

Castellanos Lara’s Dia de Muertos truly captured the essence of the holiday. I walked in with an open mind, but no true culture or connection. In less than an hour, I had remembered and honored my birth family whom I would not know, participated in traditions to keep the event alive, and celebrated with strangers, new friends and old ones. I walked away with a love like no other, and an unexplainable jubilation that feels just a little bittersweet. 

So next year, when Halloween time comes around, consider wandering down to the Cleveland Public Theatre campus, where all are welcome, not simply Latinos, to experience the joy for yourself.