I began building my ancestral altar in July 2020. My father passed away that June and I wanted to create a place where I could commune with him, his presence, and his memory. Piece by piece, picture by picture, element by element, my altar slowly came together. A white tablecloth from Etsy here, old family photos there, personal effects everywhere, and, of course, the Bible my father gave me in 1984 when I was just 15. He inscribed it: “Be strong in the Lord and the power of His might.”
I’m so grateful that I honored my impulse to create an altar. I have found tending to it cultivates peace within me and it gives my grief somewhere to go. I pour my ancestors morning coffee and give them dinner at night. I refresh their water daily and read scriptures from the Psalms. I spend precious time talking with them, and listening … always listening.
My ancestral altar has created a gratifying ritual for me. I want to believe that my ancestors, too, enjoy my presence, my devotion, my prayers, and my remembrance.
One of the last things my father said to me during his transition was “remember”. He repeated that word, that admonition several times. Remember.
I do. I will. It’s my joy to.
I remember you, Dad, and all of my ancestors who lived and loved so that I might do the same.
