Home Opinion In My Opinion The year Halloween lost its magic

The year Halloween lost its magic

My son always loved Halloween. From the time he was a tiny toddler, he’d plan his costume out months in advance, and, as the days grew chilly, he’d take my hand and drag me into the garage, pointing excitedly to our rapidly expanding collection of ghosts and dancing goblins and light up witches. “It’s time, Mommy,” he’d say urgently. “It’s time to make the house ready for Halloween!”

Trick or treating was also a big deal. He’d get dressed up and I’d take him out, the first few years with my best friends and their children, and then later, when he was in elementary school, we’d go in a big group around the neighborhood and then to the big Halloween trick or treating event on Main Street in Westhampton Beach, where we lived then. He’d come home and put the enormous bag of candy on his bed, sorting his favorites into neat piles.

One year, we even decked out our entire backyard with ghosts and gravestones and a fog machine for a big party, and all the kids slept over. Candy was flying long into the night as the little boys told ghost stories and laughed themselves to sleep on the living room floor in their sleeping bags.

The year my son was 10, we went trick or treating as usual. A day later, we had a church youth group sleepover at Sports Plus. As the long night wore on, I noticed that my son was very, very thirsty, asking for drinks constantly and running to the bathroom. At first, I thought not too much of it, just attributing the thirst to the fact that the kids were running wild on the rides and it was warm inside.

Once home, however, the symptoms continued and he grew cranky and irritable. I called his pediatrician and brought him in for a visit. Having worked for years as the editor of a women’s magazine, I’d edited my fair share of health columns, and asked that he be tested for diabetes.

The doctor smiled at me, saying the test was unnecessary and that I was being overly cautious, as always. (In fairness, I had always been a worrywart, thinking my son had every ailment in the “What to Expect” books).

I insisted on the test. Turns out, his blood sugar was over 600, and he could have gone into a diabetic coma. I rushed him to the hospital, where he was diagnosed with Type 1 juvenile diabetes.

My sweet, innocent little boy, who’d greeted every day with a smile and rarely even cried as an infant, was suddenly forced to grow up in a very real way. He asked why God didn’t love him anymore. Our pastor at the time came to the hospital and brought Snoopy videos and prayed, telling my son that God did love him and so did we all.

We left the hospital armed with needles and insulin and instruction booklets. Once home, that big bag of Halloween candy sat in the living room, where we’d left it, mocking us, it seemed, holding a shattered dream along with the brightly colored Snickers and Kit Kats.

My son sat down on the floor and started crying as though he’d never stop. I sat down with him and cried, too. Surrounded by the Halloween candy he could never eat freely again, my son lost a little bit of his trust and innocence that day. And my heart broke.

From then on, Halloween, kids’ birthday parties, celebrations at school, all became a minefield of disappointment. My son couldn’t eat the richly frosted cupcakes, the ice cream bars, the bags full of Halloween candy. He couldn’t drink soda as a treat and he couldn’t even have a birthday cake unless it was sugar free. The other kids, although kind, didn’t really understand. And I am forever thankful to those close friends, other moms who made sure to provide a sugar free treat for my son, so he’d feel as though he was included, part of the fun.

This year, a new initiative has launched, the Teal Pumpkin Project, to raise awareness about food allergies in children. People are painting their pumpkins teal and placing them outside, a beacon of welcome to kids with food allergies, letting them know that there are safe, fun, non-food related treats to be found at those houses. How I wish those teal pumpkins had been around the year my son was diagnosed with Type 1 juvenile diabetes. How I wish he’d had something to make him feel special and safe on Halloween. I hope all the kids with diabetes follow their friends who have food allergies, and find the houses with the toys and Halloween stickers and vampire fangs, and come home with their Halloween bags loaded with fun things to enjoy.

As for my son, he’s doing an internship in Disney World right now, where Halloween and Mickey’s Not So Scary Halloween Party have given him a chance to truly enjoy the holiday, for the first time since, perhaps, that awful Halloween 11 years ago when everything changed, forever. But he — and I — will never forget those years when he felt so left out, so sad, at a time when all the other kids were having fun. That’s something no child should ever have to feel. All kids want is to belong, to feel treasured and special and part of the group.

I hope everyone heads out today to buy a pumpkin, paints it teal, and stocks up on some non-food related treats. Hopefully, those teal pumpkins can make Halloween a little brighter for even one little girl or boy — and help them hold onto the innocence of their childhoods, if only for a little while longer.

 

 

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