Blessed Allhallowtide

Recently our local public radio station held its annual (generally interminable) fall fundraising campaign, complete with those wonderful "thank you gifts" to entice people to part with their hard-earned cash.  People in the upper echelon of contributors qualified for a snazzy little device called The Bass Egg that purportedly turns any surface it's set upon into a speaker.

The Bass Egg works by sending vibrations into the surface it's set upon, causing it to resonate and produce sound.  I have always loved fall for its soul-popping beauty.  But this year especially I find myself responding on a whole other level.  At one point I used to teach Sunday School, and I remember doing research on the topic of Halloween/All Saints Day and learning about the very deep roots of these celebrations.  I was especially struck by the ancient belief that during this time of year the veil between our world and the spirit world is thinner, allowing for easier passage between the two.  What a beautiful idea, really.  I've been enjoying the temperate weather, colorful foliage, and clear blue skies of the season, but my mind kept returning to that thinning veil.  It sent out a vibration that resonated within my spirit.

This year has been another year of loss for people I know and love.  My own father passed not long after the new year, and friends of mine have been walking the same difficult path.  And there have been the especially painful too-early exits of spouses and children within my social sphere.  Situations in which there are no good words to say, except "I'm sorry."

This year I'm taking comfort in ancient belief and feel blessed to be part of a church tradition that has adopted it and sanctified it and made it their own.  In my quick Google search to verify that my recollections of the season were indeed correct, I found that the church had even given these days a lovely name, Allhallowtide, encompassing All Hallows Eve, All Saints Day, and All Souls Day.  Setting aside a time to remember and celebrate our loved ones, to even feel them walking amongst us again, is a beautiful thing.  The Mexicans have it right celebrating Dias de Los Muertos.  It's a tradition we'd all do well to embrace.

This year I felt the need to mark this bittersweet occasion, and that small, still voice within gave me the idea.  I chose to visit the grave of my favorite local saint, a person I loved deeply (not romantically) during life who remains special to me after death.

Normally I'm not really big on visiting graves.  It's not that I find it spooky, morbid, or particularly depressing.  It's just that I generally don't find that the person I loved and remember is there.  I have sat at this particular grave before and frankly, it felt kind of awkward.  Like knocking on someone's door when they are clearly not home.  No connection.

This time, though, was different.  Maybe it was because of Allhallowtide.  Maybe because circumstances had conspired to bring me in close contact with his family and mutual friends.  I followed the leading that told me to go get some ice cream and visit my old friend.

The ice cream was significant because he loved it in life.  And it had to be good ice cream.  The artisan shop in town was closed so I had to settle for Ben & Jerry's.  I chose peanut butter cup because my friend was no plain vanilla guy.  He would appreciate the big rich chunks of candy.  I cleared the leaves off of his monument which, conveniently enough, happens to be a stone bench.  I sat down and dug into my pint.

It occurred to me later that I must have cut quite a figure.  I'd come straight from work so I was still dressed in my all black waitressing clothes, my hair is currently a vivid purple, and I was sitting on a grave calmly eating ice cream.  It may have all looked quite blasphemous, but what I was experiencing was really quite spiritual.

The weather this fall has been amazingly gentle and warm.  There haven't been storms or gales to knock all the leaves off the trees so there is still a surprising amount of color.  And my favorite trees, the oaks, are in full display in their burgundy, harvest gold, and cappuccino brown.  It was warm enough that I was comfortable in my t-shirt even though it was late afternoon.  I watched families riding bikes and people walking their dogs enjoying the unseasonably mild weather while they could, and I just let my thoughts run to my friend.  He loved days such as this.  He loved natural beauty, and the feeling of the sun's warmth on his face.

The sky was perfectly clear blue.  No clouds, no curtain separating this world from the next.

I thought about his family that I'd had the pleasure of spending time with just the day before.  I felt how much he loved them, especially his wife.  I know how pleased he would be with his daughters and the lives and families they've built for themselves.  I envisioned his delight with his granddaughters, remarkable young women, whom he loved even though he did not get to meet them in person.  I prayed that they all would feel his calm reassuring presence in whatever difficult times may lie ahead.  I know he will be with them.

Because the bench had been a little damp I'd grabbed an unopened newspaper, still in its bag, to use as a seat cushion.  As I stood up to stretch my legs a bit my eyes fell upon the paper and I smiled.  It was the Cleveland paper that I'm pretty sure he read daily, especially the sports pages.  He was a huge basketball fan who would have thoroughly enjoyed the Cavaliers' run at the championship.  He would be a LeBron James fan, I think.  I could picture us debating the impact of The Decision and whether LeBron should be welcomed back to Cleveland with open arms.  I smiled at the thought.

By this time my ice cream was getting rather soft and I made a gesture I've never felt inclined to make before.  I let some drip onto the ground and it felt like sharing.  I traced a little heart shape.  It was my way of saying I loved you, I remember you, and here is something you enjoyed.  I smiled and let a few gentle tears slide from my eyes.

The seasons will march on and it won't be long before clouds, snow, and the noisy joyous confusion of Christmas close this spiritual window.  We'll each be absorbed back into our respective worlds.  But every year when the leaves are falling and the skies are clear I intend to take some time to acknowledge and wave to the people who are standing behind the gauzy curtain, who are waving and smiling back at us.