I always loved Halloween. I
started trick-or-treating with my family when I was six (I was a ghost under a
pillow case).
My first “real” mask was
Cleopatra, which I wore with black, and it was hot and nasty and tremendous
fun. I kept up the tradition until I was 14.
The shot of me on the fireplace
is my last outfit. Yes, that’s a tribble hanging around my neck. My cat (a real
one) went with me, and people would call Grandma outta the den to come look at
the black kitty.
This affection for dressing up
continued in college; my roommate and I donned costumes for every Halloween,
and we both branched out into theater and other modes of showing off.
Obviously, the cat theme continued, as did the fondness for Halloween. The goth
picture is from a cemetery tour I went on.
Rachel, too, loved Halloween and
dressing up. Phyllis was a huge Halloween fan, and dressed Rachel in the most
outstanding costumes. Here is Rachel as Dorothy and her and her wheelchair as Sandy in Grease.
We decorated her chair, and the
teachers at her school couldn’t wait to see what she’d look like when she got
off the bus. In the evening, Phyllis took her trick-or-treating around the
neighborhood, and I handed candy out to the kids. And a good time was had by
all.
Then Rachel was gone.
The first year, I lived where
there weren’t many children, so it was a silent night. The next year, I was in
an apartment in Birmingham—lots of kids—and I stocked up on candy.
But with every knock on the door,
it became harder and harder to celebrate. I didn’t think it would be, but the
memories, though cherished and precious, changed it. 
And that’s OK. Things do change.
Most of life does.
My new Halloween tradition is to
go to the movies. And I’m kinda enjoying that.
But don’t be surprised if you see
me in costume some time, maybe even on the stage.
Some things DON’T change.
Happy Halloween, y’all.
