Halloween, for some reason, has never been one of my favorites. I always felt pressured as a child to get my costume just right, and, if I did, my mother always ruined it by making me wear my coat or something. As an adult, I just never have liked the darkness or absurdity associated with it. Blood and gore and witchcraft and superheroes and walking dominoes are just not my thing. I do realize, however, that dressing up is fun and I am always happy to give candy to cute little monsters. I still chuckle over my surprise four nights ago when after opening the door to about a dozen 3 ft. tall pink princesses and miniature spidermen in a row, I opened the door bending down in anticipation of another cute little trick or treater and actually jumped at the sight of a lone black 6' TALL robed teenager with no face. I got tricked into thinking all my "monsters" would be little ones. Isn't that just like life? Just when you think you have figured out how to deal with all the surprises at your doorstep, life gives you a real monster of a challenge. I know I have been lulled into this false sense of security many times. I thought I had wrestled with monsters all year as we faced financial crisis, loss of friends, a move across country, separation from my spouse, empty nest syndrome, etc. Then, we open our door and Leukemia casts its menacing glare at us. Anyway, I just really don't like Halloween that much.
In contrast, the next day is the Catholic tradition that I LOVE, we celebrate All Saints Day. (You know...Hallowe'en = Eve of All Hallows Day) This is a day I can embrace. Dwelling on all the earthly heroes that left their mark on the earth as good and holy, humble yet courageous and all that stuff I ain't. But I can hope, and I can dream, and I can 'dress up' in the virtues they represent. Maybe if I 'play' saint long enough, I will finally figure out how to 'be' saint. I often imagine my favorites standing with me when I need them during the day helping me battle the challenges that I face. It gives me great comfort. Indeed, I have put it on paper and in 'the file' that I want the Litany of the Saints sung at my funeral. I will call on them till the bitter end to help me reach my goal.
Then, yesterday, the Church celebrated All Souls Day. That's the day we remember and pray for all those who didn't quite make the mark for a straight shot into heaven. They're the ones who are headed there but probably get to the gate and say, "Whoa! I can't go in dressed like this! Give me a minute while I find a nice enough outfit." Yeah, and depending on the shape of their closet, especially if it's anything like mine, it may take awhile. That'll be most of us. So, I like this day because I know there will be people praying for me someday to help me 'finish what's lacking' before I enter the party.
Honestly, after three days of celebrating 'dead people', my mind turned to the memory of my father. I have confidence that he has joined the 'heroes' beyond and stands with them in supporting me through my life challenges. He was a hero to me in my life as a little girl, and although as an adult I now know he was not as perfect as I perceived him then, he was a noble and forthright man who loved me very much. My memory of him is still one of admiration and great affection, but my strongest memory is of his passing.
There are so many things in this life we assume will always be there for us. I think our parents are one of those things when we are young. To lose a parent in your youth really shakes your world to its core.
When I was 16 years old, I had charge of my younger brothers and sisters one Friday evening while my parents had an invitation to dinner at friends'. My sister Valerie and I were supposed to be sharing the babysitting job, but neither of us were doing a very good job. She was gabbing on the phone with who knows who and I was engrossed in a suspenseful movie on the television. We later discovered that at least one of our five younger charges were down the street in their pajamas playing with friends at the end of the cul de sac. I know, great babysitters, huh?!
Anyway, at some point earlier my mother told us that she was not waiting for my daddy's arrival any longer and to tell him when he arrived home from work to just meet her at their destination. Val and I both assumed the other had seen him come through and leave again, but that was not the case. In fact, throughout the course of my movie, I was interrupted three times by irritating phone calls that should have aroused my suspicion that all was not well. I actually had heard from a policeman looking for my mother, my daddy's only brother from out of town about an emergency phone call he had missed and a close friend of my folks who was concerned about something that had been announced on the evening news that night. It was only after my movie finally ended that I sat back and started pondering all the strange calls.
It was about this time that I decided to call my parents only to discover that my mother had been in the driveway for about an hour trying to get herself together enough to come in and tell us that our father had been struck by a drunk driver on his way home from work that evening and had died at the scene. Our world turned upside down in an instant. One scary monster had just shown up at our front door. My life would never be the same and innocence was lost that night with my first real experience of the facts of life and death. Forty years later, I see both the good and the bad that came from that painful night, but at the time it was just scary.
No, I don't like Halloween. I will share more on the aftermath of my daddy's death later. I think I will go to bed now...after some prayer time with my favorite saints, including St. Ed - my daddy.
