Every year around this time, I build my altar — candles, marigolds, and memories all aglow. Día de los Muertos reminds me that the people we love don’t vanish; they transform. Their energy lingers in laughter, in favorite songs, in the way light flickers just so. I think of Paco — my salsa partner with the red dancing shoes and the biggest smile in the room — and my dad, proudly wearing the team jersey “just in case they needed him to sub in.” Their spirits are still dancing, still cheering, still here — just across the bridge.

It’s my favorite time of year to remind people that intuition doesn’t belong only to psychics, mediums, or mystical beings cloaked in moonlight (though… who doesn’t love a good dramatic cape?).