There's something going on in the universe. Something in the air. The temperature has shifted from balmy and hurricane hot to downright frigid. The Halloween decorations I've hung with care have gone from hanging horizontal to the ground due to 30 mph winds to hanging languidly wrapped around trees.
Change is in the air; it's all around. At times it carries the dry, crisp tang of crinkly, dead leaves. Othertimes it smells like the peculiar changing-season rot that seems to have overtaken a portion of the swamp I run across as part of my training. Part wet leaves, part something that smells strongly of antiseptic. As if Mother Nature is doing her part to break down, disinfect and get rid of what had come before to make way for a cold, barren season in which the heart waits for what lies ahead.
It's been a time of tense anticipation for my family as a number of life decisions hang in the balance. It's been a time of excitement fringed with frustration.
Today I had a frustrating conversation with someone who I care for. Not life-altering, just one of those relationships that could be more. I hung up the phone frustrated and disappointed. Mad at myself for enjoying a relationship so much that I could easily see it becoming something it isnt. Frustrated at myself for getting my hopes up in places I shouldn't, everytime I feel that pang of kindred spirit toward someone.
I laced up my sneakers and headed out for my long weekend run, hoping to bang it out early so I can enjoy Boston run-free for the weekend. I was surprised at the emotions I felt. Tears streamed across my cheeks at one point. I was shocked. I swiped at the moist salt and stared at my fingers in disbelief. Soon the frustration ebbed away and gave way to that familiar feeling of exertion. I pulled my sternocleidomastoid muscle recently, likely from the running, and it's freaked me out. It has the effect of swollen lymph nodes, minus the swollen nodes. Turning my head is difficult. Swallowing is uncomfortable. Running I have to be extremely careful to maintain decent form. And yet, I remain keenly aware these days just how much the human head weighs.
It got dark around mile 8 and I pulled out my phone to let my family know I was alive and only had a mile left and would call when I was done running. Someone nearly hit me with their car as I crossed a busy road. This really aggravated me. I had the right of way. And I know the car saw me. The driver and I made eye contact. He revved the engine. Once safely on the other side, I took my phone out. I was shocked at the multitude of messages, flashing lights, blinking missives and missed calls.
One friend has been disappointed in love. Another lost his young brother, who has a wife and young daughter. The wake is Halloween.
The impact of the latter took the wind literally out of my sails and lungs. I slowed to a walk, staring in disbelief at my phone. I reread the words over and over again. As my pace slowed, for the first time I felt how cold the air had grown. The chill stung my chest.
This friend has lost his only sibling. I thought of my sister, my only sibling. My best friend from the moment I met her.
Halloween is one of my favorite holidays. Maybe my absolute favorite. I love the darkness, the night. I love the costumes, the pageantry, the sequins, the other side of self. I love the candy. I love the candlelight. I love the mischief. I love the moonlight.
But I also love how the holiday throws into sharp relief the juxtaposition and very fine line between the living and the dead. Contrary to what one might assume from my previous post, my Catholicism also comes with a great respect for All Saints Day, life, death, the triumph of good and the power of evil. Behind all the jack-o-lanterns and rubber masks is a poignant reminder that life cannot be without death. The two are inextricably linked.
My parents recently lost a friend to an aggressive brain tumor. He used to be a successful farmer before moving here a short time ago. My mother went to breakfast with his wife today. Recounting the day, my mom said, "She just has such a wonderful outlook on life and death; maybe it's having been on a farm and having been so close to it. She embraces it so fully."
As Americans who largely live luxuriously without having to kill our own meat or bury our own dead, death is only as close as we want it to be. We can remain at an arm's length from life too, if we like. Other people deliver our babies and even raise our children. We can stay home and never speak to anyone if we want to. I believe that such a distance began as a luxury but has become a great detriment to our people. I've heard many friends in the Peace Corps. remark how villagers in Third World countries are so much more comfortable with death. It's part of life. Sure there's sadness and grief. But the circle of life is palpable, unavoidable and almost comforting in itself.
Life is hard. I've been lucky to not lose anyone terribly close to me yet. Whenever someone I know passes from this world, however, it's impossible not to contemplate that crossover. How a person who was here, eating oatmeal and watching the news only days and hours ago, no longer is here as we knew him. Where does that leave those of us left behind?
As I send out fervent prayers for the comfort of my friend, I also listen to "This Is Halloween" as I pack to head to my own holiday revelry in Boston. It's a scary time, an unnerving time. A time to remember our dead. A time to respect the spirits of those who've gone before us, and to wonder if they're walking the same streets, drifting among us unseen, watching us as much as we continue to yearn and look for them.
This is Halloween. This is Halloween. Halloween, Halloween, Halloween, Halloween.
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