A Few Thoughts For Halloween

It's that time of year again.  Ghost and ghouls, skeletons and mummies, guts and gore have appeared in front yards all across America.  I respect freedom of expression, but sometimes I pass houses where the decorations are downright disturbing.  It's horrifying to see an, albeit artificial, person hanged in a tree, blood dripping down her legs, or rubber severed body part strewn across a field of weathered tombstones.  When did death and violence become so appealing that we moved them front and center, voluntarily subjecting ourselves, our neighbors and any passers-by to them for a certain month each year?

I venture to say that when I was little, I spent more time in cemeteries than your average kid.  That's not because a lot of people in my life were dying at that time, but because my grandma was a meticulous and devoted keeper of graves.  She had a number of graves, including her parents' and in-laws', of which she took care.  So on most summer evenings - my sister and I spent much time each summer on my grandparents' small farm - Oma made the short walk to the cemetery to water, weed, arrange and rake.  I often tagged along because it was an outing.  Plus, the cemetery had a certain mystique that sent a little chill down my spine and, ever the historian, I was fascinated by reading the gravestones and imagining the life summed up in a few letters and numbers.  Sometimes we took our bikes and the highlight of the trip would be coming home, down hill and fast, through the little village.

At the cemetery, Oma requested silence, obedience and assistance.  I would lug the watering can to the single spigot and back, re-filling it over and over.  Meanwhile, Oma tidied up the graves with the final touch of always raking around them, in exact parallel, undisturbed lines.  At the time, I had not heard of zen gardening and Oma probably hadn't either, but these days I recognize the meditative effect this task might have had for her.  Even in winter, Oma made her way to the cemetery at least weekly to ensure the graves looked up to par.

As a child accompanying my grandma on her frequent pilgrimages to her lost loved ones, I didn't understand at all that she came there to grieve, remember, and reflect.  Tending to the graves was simply the physical outlet to maintain a tangible connection with those she had lost and a way of setting aside time to commune.  Now that I am an adult whose regular walking route leads through a small cemetery, I understand.  I have experienced these losses myself and, more importantly, I am keenly aware that each day with my family is a gift.

The physician's advisory for those affected by Rex's genetic syndrome includes information about sudden, unexpected deaths of children and young adults, including Rex's age.  Specifically, these children died in their beds at night with their families not noticing anything unusual or alarming.  Some of these children were physically healthy, lively and energetic just like my little boy. Think about it for a second.  Do you worry when you put your son or daughter to sleep at night if he or she will wake in the morning?  Do you ever imagine the agony of walking into your child's bedroom at the start of a new day to find them lifeless?  Do you ever try to comprehend the utter devastation your child's death would bring?  I do when I walk along the paved path of the little cemetery.  My mind wanders often, if just for a split second, to the possibility of losing Rex to a sudden and unexpected death and tears begin to stream down my cheeks immediately.  And I quickly turn my thoughts to silent mantras of gratitude for the time I am given with my son and other loved ones.

So please forgive me when my Halloween spirit does not include tombstones, caskets, skeletons, blood and executions or other macabre associations which seem to become more prevalent each October in our country.  For me, death is not entertainment or amusement.  Fear is not a thrill or a conquest.  Instead, those things, like cemeteries, are a sharp reminder of the fragility of life and of its preciousness.  Cemeteries impress upon me the need to cherish every single day that I have with my family, no matter how much they might frustrate, upset or hurt me that day.  So for Halloween, we'll stick to jack-o-lanterns, spiders, light-hearted costumes, candy and all manner of orange stuff and celebrate life and the passing of seasons together.