🎃 Halloween, All Saints and All Souls — when the veil grows thin 🕯️

Halloween has become such a big celebration for children these days — costumes, sweets, laughter, a little harmless mischief. I love seeing the joy it brings, but for me, raised in a Catholic family, this time of year has always meant something deeper. It wasn’t just about spooky stories or pumpkins; it was a sacred time that connected the living and the dead, the earth and heaven.

I grew up thinking of these days as one long moment of remembrance — first All Saints’ Day, then All Souls’ Day. I still remember walking through the cemetery with my family, holding flowers and candles, the air cool and quiet, the sky heavy with autumn light. It wasn’t sad — it was peaceful. We would visit the graves of grandparents, neighbours, people whose stories were part of our own. Lighting a candle wasn’t just a tradition; it was a way of saying, you are still with us.

This time of year always feels special, as if the world slows down and something unseen moves closer. The veil between this life and the next seems thinner somehow. I like to believe that our loved ones draw near, not as distant memories but as gentle presences — encouraging us, comforting us, maybe even smiling at our chaos down here. They’re not gone, not really. They’ve simply stepped into another room, one filled with light and peace. And when we remember them, when we speak their names or light a candle, it’s as if a door quietly opens for a moment, and love flows freely again — both ways.

In other parts of the world, this season is celebrated with even more colour and joy. In Mexico, for example, families celebrate Día de los Muertos — the Day of the Dead — by creating beautiful altars with marigolds, candles, photos, and favourite foods. It’s believed that the spirits return home to spend time with their loved ones. It’s not a time of mourning but of celebration — music, laughter, stories. I find that so moving: the idea that love continues across worlds, that remembering those who have passed can be an act of joy, not sorrow.

For me, that’s what this season is really about — connection. The kind that doesn’t fade with time or distance or even death. Whether we pray, light a candle, visit a grave, or simply sit in silence thinking of those we love, we’re keeping that connection alive. We’re saying, I remember you. I still love you. You are part of me.

And I believe they hear us. I believe they come close when we call them in love — not to haunt us, but to hold us in spirit, to wrap us in quiet reassurance. Sometimes we may feel them in a sudden warmth, a gentle breeze, a flicker of light, or a dream that feels more real than anything. That’s their way of reminding us they’re near, still watching, still loving, still part of our lives ➡️ 💫 Signs from Heaven 💫

So as the pumpkins glow and the evenings grow darker, I like to take a quiet moment to feel that closeness — to give thanks for the lives that have touched mine and to trust that somewhere, beyond what we can see, they’re still with us. Watching, loving, and perhaps, smiling in the light. 🌙