Our Dead Around Us

This was taken by my friend Random, often mentioned in this blog.

Tonight, as costumed children run from house to house collecting candy and adults revel in horror movies or dress up in their own costumes and make their own flavor of Halloween fun, I find myself walking a quieter path. Not that I don’t eat the candy and not that I don’t enjoy a good costume party, but more and more over the years, Samhain has become a time to remember those we’ve lost. It is, after all, the day when the veil between this world and the next is thinnest.

It sounds like it might be morbid and depressing–and certainly  it is sad. Every year I shed a few tears thinking about my grandmother, my aunt, my friend Gregg, and others. But I find it joyous as well. The memories make me feel as if my loved ones are close by, if only for tonight. I remember the high school friends who died in the past year. They were people I lost touch with years ago, but I know that, because we were in each other’s lives at a critical time, they shaped me in some way. I remember my mother’s friend Sandy, a farm woman and devout Catholic mother of ten, who couldn’t have been more different on the surface than my liberal, agnostic mom. Yet they bonded over books and shared love of history and became close friends. Sandy was at my wedding, and I went on a few trips to Cape Cod with her and Mom–they both loved the ocean in that fey, Celtic way that I do, though Sandy was, on the surface, the least fey person you could imagine. And she could draw out my rather reserved husband by talking about animals. I remember my grandmother and think how I wish she could have met Jeff and I get this feeling she has met Jeff and approves of him, that she knew Jeff long before I did. I remember my aunt, a creature of bright light and deep shadows, and appreciate that she was there to nurture my less pragmatic side. And I remember Gregg and realize he’s been dead for longer than we were friends in life. I wonder if he’d even know the person I’d become, let alone like her, and suddenly I feel a quiet presence, hear a dry chuckle and hear the words, “I’d know you anywhere. I’ll always know you.”

On a more grounded note, Samhain is also the turning of the Celtic year. As a pagan, I get two New Years, two times I can assess the direction of my life. (I suppose I can do that anytime, but it seems particularly appropriate on these liminal days.) While we traditionally celebrate Samhain on October 31, the actual “cross quarter” day falls on November 6, which is the astronomical mid-point between the Summer and Winter Solstice. I will take this week to figure out a plan and path for the coming year, set a few concrete goals.

I came home from work tonight headachy and drained, feeling out of kilter with the universe. This often happens to me at the changing of seasons, especially moving into the darker time of year. But now I feel better. I’m still tired and headachy, still feeling a bit overwhelmed by needing to do a fairly major rewrite* on Shamans’ Seduction while still working on the WIP currently known as Out of Control. But I feel more grounded, more focused, more in tune with my inner self.

Blessed be.

* Getting a “revise this, please,” letter is a new one on me. I feel I’ve hit another writers’ rite of passage. My editor trusts me and believes in me enough to work with me on a book that’s not quite there yet.