Bare Walls

Tomorrow is Halloween, and the walls of my house are still bare. To many of you, that means nothing, but to me, it means I still have not healed. Halloween was my mom's favorite holiday, the house was always decorated, candy bowls were overflowing, and the atmosphere in our home was forever the place to be. I remember every year more and more decorations came out, and every wall in our living room was covered in cats and pumpkins. After my mom died, I carried on the tradition for a few years, smiling through the tears and laughing through the pain. This year, my walls are completely bare, as they have remained for years.


This Halloween is a very important one, it holds a lot of firsts for us. This is little Dustin's first time dressing up, my first Halloween as a mother of three, and Laila's first Halloween as a diabetic. The day will bring challenges, I'm sure, all days do, but these challenges are different. None of these were expected, and none of them will be easy. I find it incredibly hard to get into the mood when the chocolate in the kids' buckets is melted before we get home, the leaves on palm trees don't change color, and trick-or-beer is unheard of out here. My heart doesn't laugh with memories of old times, but breaks with the thought of having to create my own.


Laila is getting older, her memory more vivid, so I do my best. I go through the motions, dress them up, bake treats and goodies, take them out around the neighborhood, but it's just that. Going through the motions. I feel as empty inside now as I did during my first Halloween without her. My smiles are forced, my laughter is fake, but for my kids, I couldn't be more genuine. When they grow older and look at photos from their childhood, the memories I wish for them are nothing but happiness and joy.

I may not decorate the walls, blow up big displays in the yard, or buy the most expensive costumes, but I can honestly say that I'm trying. This year, right outside my door, is a carved pumpkin and a purple skull on a stick. It's a flashy, dollar one you buy at Wal*Mart, but it's a start. I'll never be my mother, but I am someone's mother. I am the mother of 3 beautiful, healthy, happy children that deserve nothing but the best. Tomorrow, I will take them out and hold their hands, we will walk from house to house getting candy and admiring the decorations, and we will make memories of our own. I know that one day, my walls will be covered again, and I know there will be plenty of hands to hold and help me along the way.