Celtic celebration, Hallowe’en

 Owen in paint

Owen in paint, by Carla.

Originally, a Pagan celebration borne out of a Celtic tradition, Hallowe’en was the night before All Saints Day, a Christian event.  Many stories depict what we call in the west, Halloween, as a time for the dead to revisit the mortal world.  I don’t pretend to know the history of Halloween, I only know the connection Owen had with this holiday.  I’ve read a bit about the origins of Halloween, but there are so many stories, so many associated, disassociated, and overlapping references, that I simply think of those things I remember from my own childhood, and those of our children.  Innocent, all.  Magical, and fun. 

Owen loved scary movies.  I can’t watch some of the movies he thought were funny and ridiculous, because my imagination is too vivid.  His was too, though, and I believe he watched them as a way to face his fears – some real, some fantasy, some other-worldly.

For general historical references to Halloween, you might find this information  helpful:  //en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Halloween#Origin:_Celtic_observation_of_Samhain

And, yet, you may prefer our western tradition of “trick or treat”, costumes, and gatherings of family and friends, to the actual historical references.  Early on, this was a festival of the changing seasons, and in many ways, it is today.  It was, for Owen…but, more.  Sometimes, it’s easier to accept our current cultural celebrations, than to delve into history.

Owen’s last Halloween mask hangs in the hallway to his rooms upstairs.  He was so happy to have found it last year.  It is, in my opinion, grotesque, but he thought it was the best one he’d ever had.  I guess the “Martian” antennae Lea and I created for him when he was three or four years old (along with the green makeup and outfit), were no competition for this advanced version of warding off evil spirits.

I saw Owen cry on very rare occasions, I more often heard him scream.  I watched the young women who loved him, saw their pain at not being able to reach him when he was in pain.  I love those young women for loving him.  He’s my son, and I wanted him to love and be loved.  He did, and was.  I am haunted by the sanity his absence has chased away from me.  I can still see his long fingers playing the piano.   “This pain is just too real.”

Song for the night:  My Immortal, by Evanescence


~ by Linda on October 17, 2007.

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