It’s Halloween night and my porch light is off. This year I didn’t pull decorations from storage bins, and the only candy I bought to share was for a social activity at church earlier in the week. I manned one of the kiddie games inside; praised the children for their cute, scary, princess-y, and clever costumes; and repeated, “Happy Halloween,” in response to their “Trunk or Treat!” greetings while chucking assorted sweets into their buckets, bags, and pillowcases.
I didn’t even dress up (beyond wearing a smoky orange Florida Writers Association T-shirt emblazoned with I love the smell of ink in the morning).
I wasn’t actively avoiding Halloween, but until a few minutes ago I hadn’t thought of why I’d ignored so much more of it this year than last year, which I wrote about in Beware of “Happy Halloween” and Other Hazardous Good Wishes.
Then I came across today’s HuffPost Healthy Living post by Megan Divine, “Halloween and Grief: When the Nightmare Is Real.”
READ IT. (Please.)