More Light, Less Fright: What My Son Taught Me About Truth and Remembrance

When my younger son, navigating the world decades ago with an Asperger’s and ADD diagnosis, declared he was skipping Halloween and said,

“I’m not saying trick or treat. I only am saying treat,”

I didn’t know how wise that would sound years later.

He was reminding me of something the heart never forgets — that sensitivity is sacred, and sometimes saying no is the first step toward authentic connection.

While other children ran through the streets in plastic masks and sugar highs, my son felt everything — the crackle of the costumes, the sting of the face paint, the eerie noises and flickering lights. He wasn’t afraid of monsters; he was overwhelmed by the noise, the chaos, the pretending.

He’d already learned that pretending costs energy — and for sensitive souls, energy is everything.

So, after a year of skipping “treating,” we joined our youth group on a holiday outreach project, delivering toys to an underprivileged community. We met children whose families couldn’t afford gifts that season — and once again, my son asked the question that cracked the spell wide open:

“Mom, why would Santa skip all these nice children? There isn’t such a man flying in the sky making a list of naughty and nice when it’s the adults that aren’t ever nice.”

He was ten years old and already unraveling illusions most adults still cling to.

And in that moment, he taught me that innocence isn’t the same as ignorance — it’s clarity wrapped in love.

🕯️ Choosing Truth Over Tradition

That simple act — saying no to the noise — became a quiet rebellion against overwhelm.

We stopped forcing what didn’t feel right and began creating rituals that did.

Halloween slowly gave way to All Souls’ Day — a softer, more soulful celebration that asked us to remember instead of react.

To honor rather than perform.

To listen rather than entertain.

Now, each November, I light candles for the loved ones who shaped us — grandparents, friends, even the ancestors I never met but somehow feel in my bones.

“Love is stronger than death, even though it can’t stop death from happening, it cannot separate us from it.” — Unknown

All Souls’ Day gives us permission to talk about what most people avoid: loss, memory, and the mystery of what remains.

It’s not about fear. It’s about the faith that love doesn’t disappear; it transforms.

🌾 Remembering as Ritual

I often imagine what it would look like if this were our true autumn holiday —

if we replaced fright with reflection,

sugar rushes with stories,

and ghosts with gratitude.

We might gather around a meal and share a memory.

We might place photos on the table, light a candle, and whisper thank-yous into the air.

We might teach our children that honoring those who came before us isn’t morbid — it’s medicine.

“What is remembered, lives.” — Native American Proverb

When we remember, we re-member — we piece ourselves back together.

We feel less alone in our becoming.

And we recognize that even grief has a pulse — a rhythm that can soften with time, breath, and compassion.

💫 The Legacy of Sensitivity

Looking back now, I see how my son’s sensitivity shaped not only his own path, but mine.

He reminded me that the nervous system is not the enemy — it’s the messenger.

And when we tend to it with gentleness, truth, and permission to rest, it becomes the bridge between the seen and unseen, the living and remembered.

All Souls’ Day has become my annual reminder — a way to preserve our ancestors’ stories and bring more conversation about love and legacy into my home, my work, and my company. I hope it becomes a doorway for my granddaughters, my children, and the communities I serve to speak more openly about those we miss — and to remember them with warmth rather than silence.

Especially as the holiday season begins, I want them to feel that remembrance isn’t heavy — it’s holy. It’s part of what keeps us connected.

“Those who have passed are never far from those who remember.” — Unknown

So here’s to more treats — and a gentler kind of magic.

To choosing presence over pretense.

To remembering that legacy isn’t something left behind — it’s something still living through us.

🕯️ May your All Souls’ Day — and every day after — be filled with warmth, memory, and quiet joy.