I don't remember where I had read this, but I recall reading somewhere about the origins of Halloween that the Druids or Celts or erstwhile ancient folks who lived in sun-deprived, rain-soaked northern Atlantic isles believed that the period we now call Halloween was the time when the thin veil separating the living from the dead was lifted, and they could cavort.
This time of year always finds me anxious, irritable and fearful. And I always forget it's coming until I'm steeped in it. Such is the case again, this year. It is all due to the attacks. Labor Day through the 21st or so is time my thin veil is lifted. But this veil doesn't separate life and death so much as the comfort of reliability and abject fear and chaos.
I want nothing more than to draw nearer to my husband during this time of year. As both of our jobs demand a lot of this time of year also, it's difficult. The little time we have together is rarely "quality" time. In the last two or three years, I've managed to bear through the veil days with almost no angst. This year is different. I'm more agitated. I suspect it's all due to the fact that this is the first time sine that dread day that the 11th falls on a Tuesday. I've been re-running my memories of the days leading up to and after the attacks over again and again in my head. There is more a fear of the Groundhog Day effect this year than I have had in years past.
I find myself holding my breath more than usual, this year. I pray the veil closes, soon.