November
November 1, All Saints Day, ushering in my favorite month. I love November. There’s so much that’s right about this month.
I don’t think of All Saints in the Catholic sense, their whole concept of saints never made much sense to me. When I think of saints, I think of those who’ve gone before, in my life, who did things selflessly and loved unconditionally, and who showed me how that works. They passed on to me a sense that was much more sustainable than my own inclinations to be selfish and always taking from life. They taught me ’tis better to give than to take. To trust that what I need will be given, without my needing to grab and hoard it. Saints. Today I celebrate all of them.
Tomorrow, it’s All Souls Day. That’s a day to be compassionate for all souls, whether they’re lost ones still here, lost ones gone before, or found ones who help us all carry on. It’s a day to celebrate ALL souls. I like it.
These days get this month off to a righteous start. Later on will be other special days, especially Veterans Day, then the next day, my birthday, then finally, Thanksgiving Day, simply one of the best days of the year.
Veterans Day is special to me, not so much because I’m a veteran, but that too. It’s special because, for the first thirty-five years or so of my life, when my relationship with my father was not exactly a great one, and for the first twenty-five, a really lousy one, every year there was one day that it was fine.
That was Veterans Day. Dad would like to tell of his most memorable Veterans Day, the day before I was born, in 1954. It was a holiday for him, and with five children already in his growing brood, and one on the way, he could use the break. His sixth was late on arrival — his poor wife was so busy taking care of the other five, and the burgeoning household, she didn’t have time to take a break and deliver me.
Ah, but on Veterans Day, my Dad’s beloved Aunt Margaret, whom he considered his second mother, came over to spend the holiday with he and his family, and she pitched right in and took over many of the chores that would normally fall to Mom, freeing her up to relax and do some sewing, sitting quietly in her bedroom, while he painted the back porch. It was a fine, fall day, and late in the afternoon, Mom said she was ready to go to the hospital to deliver me. Dad, content in knowing that his Aunt Marge, his second mother, would be there for the kids, took Mom to the hospital and waited, and waited. Finally, the doctor came out and told him it would be a long night, he should go home and they’ll call him when the action starts. Dad did that, and when the phone rang at 5:00 a.m. on the 12th, with word of another son, his Aunt Marge was there to celebrate his joy with him, he had a fifth son who was healthy and everything was fine.
The way Dad would tell the tale, I knew that this man loved me, and that, despite our differences, and they were many, and the fact that 364 days of the year, we had difficulty even tolerating each other, on this day, we loved each other.
That’s why I love November so much. Plus the fact that late in his life, that one day expanded to 365 days of the year, that that man and I became the closest of friends, as I got to help celebrate his life, and he helped me to see the joy in living, and to lose the fear of dying. A true gift that began with a story told on Veterans Day, every year of my life. Since he’s gone, I continue to tell the story, in his honor.
