Halloween has come and gone, and I have survived. I am costume challenged, and easily spooked, so it has never been a favorite holiday for me, is that terrible to admit? Part of it is inherited, my mother was not a fan either. I love the Mexican equivalent, the Day of the Dead, though– when they welcome back the ghosts in the family for one day on earth each year, with a parade from the cemetery and all the pleasures of flowers and fresh cut boughs, music, and tables set with their favorite food and drink with the family all gathered ’round– and the old Christian traditions around All Saints and All Souls days too– so I usually spend some time on Halloween and the Sunday after, thinking about people I’ve loved and who are gone now, and how, this is the time of year when our priest at church says their spirits fly closest to the ground.
I imagine them swirling leaves in their wake so I’d notice, or giving me a gusty push from behind as I walk the dogs on the beach. I know a psychic who believes that when we repeat a phrase a departed friend or relative has said that they probably have just whispered it in your ear, and, she says, when you think of them all of the sudden, they are also very close to you.
With the birth of baby James, my oldest daughter’s first child (and 5th grandchild!) I have been thinking of my mother. Last night, as Chip and I got out the candy and lit the candles on the porch we talked about her toddling great-granddaughters trick-or- treating.”It’s too bad your mother didn’t live to see them,” he said. ” I think she would have gotten a kick of our family.”
