Día de los Muertos has become deeply meaningful to me, a tradition that Alexis brought into my life and one that I now hold close to my heart. The ofrenda is more than just a display; it’s a testament to the love and memories that continue to live on. Each photo, each memento is a proud reminder of the joy and light our loved ones brought into our lives. It’s a way for all who enter our home to feel that love, to see that while they may be gone, they remain an essential part of who we are.

Part 1 is for my mother, Lillian Avner. She was a trailblazer, a respected Emergency Room doctor, a generous and kind soul, and, most importantly, a devoted mother who always made time to love and support her two children. We may not have grown under her heart, but in it.

In loving memory

I remember a family trip we took in 2016 to Las Vegas, a mini family reunion with the cousins, their kids, my mom, Alexis, and others. The trip had the fast-paced energy that Las Vegas can offer. You and I shared moments that felt like small adventures: losing our money at the slots, watching Criss Angel’s mind-freak show, indulging in buffets (crab legs), and simply being in each other’s presence.

I picked you up from the airport before everyone else arrived. We went out to lunch at the Delano and discovered a little burger place in the walkway connecting the Luxor and Mandalay Bay. The burgers were forgettable, but we ordered a milkshake decorated to look like a monkey. I captured a photo of you with that milkshake—we laughed at how ridiculous it was. Being with you, sharing those silly moments, filled me with joy. I was just starting graduate school and shared all the details with you, and I could see the pride in your eyes as you listened. You were so proud of me, finding myself out in Flagstaff, Arizona.

When Alexis joined us a couple of days later, it felt complete. I loved how you embraced her, how Alexis would walk beside you down those long hotel hallways. I would always be pulled away by the kids, running with them down the hallway from the Delano to Mandalay Bay as they laughed, trying to outrun me. But each time I glanced back over my shoulder, I saw that you weren’t left behind. Alexis was there, walking with you, matching your pace, the two of you deep in conversation and enjoying each other’s company.

That visual is dearly beloved.

A few weeks ago, I returned to Las Vegas. The trip coincided with October 17th—the anniversary of your passing, though I didn’t realize it at first. Right before midnight of October 16th, I convinced my friends to make the trek to Mandalay Bay to gamble. I felt some sort of pull, some energy drawing me there.

Walking through the familiar walkway between Luxor and Mandalay Bay felt like stepping back in time, retracing old steps and memories. I passed that burger restaurant, now closed and rebranded, but that didn’t stop me from sharing the story with my friends—a simple, mundane story about a milkshake that looked like a monkey. It was a small moment, but one filled with warmth. I wanted them to know about you, to share the memory that made me smile.

When we reached the Mandalay Bay casino floor, I told my friends that we had stayed at the Delano next door. I walked in silence, not knowing I was about to be swept into a memory so vivid it felt tangible.

Then I saw the hallway—the one you and Alexis would walk down, moving at your own pace as I raced ahead. In that instant, it was as if a movie reel flickered to life in my mind, each frame capturing you perfectly. I could see you, not as a ghost or a distant recollection, but as though the past and present had fused seamlessly together. For a moment, it felt natural—as if you were right there, just some steps away from me, making your way forward. The air seemed to hold its breath, and in that space, time slowed to a crawl. You were there, walking toward me, with a smile and eyes full of love and pride.

It wasn’t until later that day, when Alexis pointed out the date, that I realized it was October 17th. But I already felt you there with me, in that in-between space where time seemed to blur. For a fleeting moment, life felt whole again—as if you were there, just beyond my grasp.

It might seem surprising to be struck by such a vivid memory, but I’ve come to welcome these moments. And even when I moved past the hallway and you faded back into memory, it didn’t break me, it empowered me.

I carry you with me always, in loving memory.