It’s Halloween night and the doorbell rings.
You grab the bowl of candy and head to greet your trick-or-treaters. As the door swings open, you hear the rustle of plastic bags and the thudding of plastic pails awaiting their prize.
“Trick or treat!” their voices chime and you smile as you pass out candy to each little creature and character who has come to visit.
You exclaim over their costumes, adding them to the list of visitors you’ve had this Halloween. “What a scary monster!” “What a fancy princess.” “What an adorable puppy.”
I will do the same thing this Halloween. Then, as the kids tumble down my steps and run back to their families, I will think about who didn’t ring my doorbell.
I will remember the children who are missing–the ones who can’t celebrate Halloween. The ones who have died and left behind the costumes and the candy. The ones who have left behind parents who are desperately wishing they were here this Halloween.
When I see costumed children at my doorstep, I will wonder about the ones who aren’t there. Who would they have dressed up as?
When I notice a few extra candy bars left at the end of the night, I will think about the children who are missing this Halloween and every one after. What would their favorite candy be?
When I hear the gleeful cries of “trick-or-treat,” I will think of the children who can’t join in the festive fun. I will imagine their smiles lighting up my doorstep–brighter than any jack-o-lantern’s grin.
When the doorbell is silent, I will remember them.
And I will remember my own daughter. I wish she had a turn to ring your doorbell and smile up at you. I wish she was here so that you could delight in her costume and watch her pick out her favorite candy. I want so badly to hear her giggles as she tumbles down the doorstep into the cool October night.
But when it’s her turn, your doorbell will stay silent.
This Halloween, please remember what joy this holiday can bring for the children who celebrate it. And while you’re thinking of the children on your doorstep, will you do one more thing?
When the doorbell is silent, will you think of the ones who can’t be here? Please take a moment to think of them and their parents whose hearts are hurting this Halloween.
My son Jamie was diagnosed with lissencephaly at 28 weeks. We lost him at 31 weeks. My lasting memory was my 2010 Suburban. We bought that truck because I would not be a stay at home dad with a minivan. He was supposed to be my 3rd guy in the back seat. That Suburban was a marker in my life..
Fast forward to 2019…I totaled the Suburban in April 2019 on the way to dropping off my 3 boys (AJ came soon after we lost Jamie) at school. My guys are different people after being in that accident. I still want to see Jamie in the back seat…along with AJ. I don’t understand life after losing Jamie…I just know my boys understand how much we miss him.