I dressed as a crayon today. My team at work had shirts and hats, and tried to be our brightest, most colorful, selves.
Halloween is still hard. Littles in costumes, families trick or treating, just breaks my heart most years. No cloyingly cute maternity shirt stretched into a pumpkin, no themed outfits, coordinating costumes.
I know all this is fantasy.
It’s fighting over costumes and overtired kids eating way too much sugar. It’s a lot of expectations and disappointment, and money.
I grew up in a house with a father who didn’t love the holiday. His mother died on Halloween and I’m sure it was a sour reminder. Given how hard those grief anniversaries hit, I can imagine why he never wanted to go into the night with too much spooky fanfare.
Your relationship with death is different after a parent dies. Mine is now, and I don’t look at all the decorations the same. All the phony death around while the world urges you to “get over” your losses.
Still, it’s just a day I feel left out and left behind. I can try to get into it myself but no amount of fun outfits and cute wigs can heal my bandaged heart.
It’s a holiday (like most) best suited to families with children. No one trick or treating at my apartment, so I’ll hide out and cry into my pile of candy, thinking about what might have been.