November Sucks!

 Not because the skies are leaden or that the wind swept rain beats against the lifeless trees. Not because the air has set its course towards the arduous journey of winter or that the days give way to the longer shadow of night. Truth be told, I actually like this weather and yes, I am weird. I cannot always have perfect days, it would drive me mad. Try eating a favorite meal all the time and see how quickly the sight of it sickens you. No, this kind of weather holds mystery and magic and its troubled brooding movements are like an opus.

 So why does November bother me so much?

 Unlike May where my family has over abundant celebrations of life, be it birthdays or wedding anniversaries, November has become overshadowed by remembrances of loss. It started 15 years ago with the death of my father. November 21^st will always be a shadow across my heart. I had thought about telling my story of him here, but I’m finding it extremely hard at this moment. It’s not that I can’t find the words (I have plenty to say), but forming the physical text is cumbersome. I will continue to work on this and tell it when it is ready. Until then it is enough to know that I continue to miss him.

 November also marks the loss of my brother’s mother-in-law. I didn’t know her for that long a time, only about 2 years in fact, but here was a woman who seemed to love life and family, especially family. I am not one who often feels comfortable among strangers, but I never felt anything other than warmth and welcome from her. It could have been very easy for one of a religion different than my own (my brother converted to Judaism shortly before he met his wife) to just wear a mask of politeness as  I have seen before in others (and even with those of my own faith), but with her I felt no such façade. She was a woman who was ready and impatient to be a grandmother and who was barely able to put her arms around her granddaughter before she had to go.

 Today I learned that the father of my oldest and best friend past away after a long illness and I find myself strangely mourning the loss of a man who for the better part of our shared time on this planet didn’t like me one bit. He and his wife (another November passing) were CATHOLICS. I capitalize this word because they were more than your normal Catholic. They attended Mass every Sunday (not just the important church holidays); They read the Bible (not just gleaning its content from the weekly eight minute and 53 second sermon); They sang the hymns out load (not just mouthing the words); They found importance to the structure of the Mass (it was not a well rehearsed hokey pokey type dance) and they gave to the church from their hearts (not just the spare change in their pockets). I on the other hand was a regular catholic who just also happened to be tainted by the hand of Satan. I didn’t sacrifice small animals; worship the dark lord in the shadows; cast spells or any other stuff associated with the Southern Kingdom. My great shame was that I loved horror movies and other unacceptable like fare. And this evil was spread to their son. OOOOOOOOOHhhhhhhhhhhhh, I was evil. Somewhere down the road (around my wedding I think) I sensed a change. Either they saw that I was not what they thought, or they just resigned to the fact that I was there and that was that. I hope for the former and I’m sure my friend could tell me for sure, but I guess I really don’t want to know in case it was the later. Regardless of any of that, it is a loss for my friend and therefore a loss for me.

 Now October, THAT’S A MONTH. The air becomes crisp and the leaves come out from behind their masks of green and reveal who they really are. The days grow shorter but are more inspiring and in the evenings, you can still hear the final whispers of summer saying goodbye. During the protracted nights, you can feel the thin barrier between this realm and the next and can understand why the ancient Celts felt the way they did about this time of year. October is also my wife’s birth month and the anniversary of our wedding (no coincidence there pal). October is when my wife, as if called by the blood of her ancestors, enters into the only good cycle that a woman can go through; baking mode baby. And to top it all off, if hot pumpkin, apple, peach or cherry pie with vanilla ice cream or wait, Wait; chocolate chip or oatmeal cookies stolen from the cooling rack just after they come out of the oven isn’t good enough to call October DA BEST, remember that Halloween (For me the ONLY holiday) is right around the corner. However, when October departs and November dawns, there just doesn’t seem to be enough I can do to stay warm within.

 I am a person who seems bound to the mysterious nature of life. I get off on Cemetery Safaris and ghost stories, bonfires and all the other strange, bizarre,  eerie, creepy, and uncanny other-worldly things that bring the specter of death to us at a safe viewing distance (I told you from the get-go that I was weird). Perhaps November bothers me because it is a true reminder that there really is no ‘safe viewing distance’ and that one day, it will call out my name and that of the ones I love the most. November blows across the hearts of us all in one fashion or another. It is what we do while we are here in the Valley of Shadow that defines the dash between the dates of our birth and death.