![]() As a child, Halloween was truly magical for me—a day I eagerly awaited all year. Not only was it my absolute favorite holiday, but it also led right into my November 1st birthday. Every year, we celebrated with a big Halloween party, where the costumes, spooky decorations, and eerie glow of candlelight set the stage for a night that felt enchantingly alive. I kept up this tradition well into my late 30s, savoring every moment. As a Witch, I always held deep respect for Samhain, understanding it as a sacred time to honor the dead and connect with those who had crossed the veil. But for me, Halloween remained a time of joyful celebration—a night where the thrill of costumes and the excitement of gathering with loved ones filled me with a lively energy. Then, everything shifted in 2020. That year, I lost my father, a loss that felt profound and life-altering. Before that, my High Priest and mentor had also passed, leaving a quiet void in my spiritual life. Soon after, a woman I admired greatly left this earthly realm, followed last year by the crossing of one of my closest friends. With each passing, I felt the veil between the worlds not as a distant, mystical concept, but as something woven into my daily reality. The festivities that once defined Halloween began to feel distant, almost foreign, as I became more attuned to the presence of those I had lost. Halloween, once vibrant and social, has transformed for me into a time of deep, personal reflection. The lively parties and festive decorations that I once loved have been replaced by an urge to honor my ancestors and the beloved dead in ways that feel more intentional, more reverent. My clairsentience, a gift I’ve had for as long as I can remember, allows me to feel peace, even happiness, around spirits. Rather than finding joy in the lively décor, I now find solace in spending time at my ancestor altar. The altar has become a sacred space where I can sit with memories, tend to their energy, and offer them the love and respect they deserve. Living in Richmond, I am fortunate to reside near Hollywood Cemetery, a place I visit often. For me, it’s more than just a burial ground; it’s a sanctuary, a peaceful retreat where I feel deeply connected to those who have passed. Amid the moss-covered gravestones and the quiet shade of the trees, I feel at home and surrounded by a sense of timeless companionship. Spending time there has become a way for me to honor Samhain’s true essence, paying quiet tribute to the ones who have crossed the veil. As I grow older, I feel my perspective shifting, and maybe that’s why I find comfort in knowing what lies beyond this life. Halloween is now less about costumes and decorations and more about this reverent silence. The light of the season now shines on my ancestors, and I honor them not just as part of the cycle of life and death but as part of me.
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