Richard Stride commentary: A Halloween reflection on light, laughter and the season of gratitude

Fall is my favorite time of the year.

I’ve shared this with you before in numerous columns, but it is especially the case in late October.

My mom and I share our love for this season. Maybe you do, too.

As I think about this time of year, I think about light. Why light, you ask? Good question, and here’s why.

There’s a certain kind of light that only shows up in late October. You know it when you see it — the kind that lands on the kitchen counter just right or glows through the last few red and golden leaves outside the window.

The light feels thoughtful — lingering on the familiar.

And right in the middle of all that stillness comes Halloween — the last playful holiday before winter settles in. I’ve always loved Halloween, especially as a kid. The costumes, the cool night air, the glow of porch lights welcoming us from one house to the next. We’d run from door to door with paper bags or pillowcases in hand, trading candy and laughter until the streetlights flickered on.

Some of my favorite memories aren’t even from trick-or-treating, but from the old church Fall Harvest and Halloween parties. There was always apple bobbing, a costume parade and the game of “Who Is It?” — where we’d try to guess who was under the mask or behind the costume.

One year, my mom suggested I wear a scarf under my mask to cover my hair so no one would know it was me. She was probably right — it would have stumped everyone — but I was too embarrassed. No scarf for me. Pride can be a stubborn thing.

These days, it’s my wife Connie who carries the Halloween spirit in our home. Every year, she dresses up — not for parties, but for the neighborhood kids. She decorates the house and porch with just the right mix of pumpkins, lights, scary props and a few friendly ghosts. She laughs easily when the doorbell rings, handing out candy with the same delight she had as a little girl. Watching her warms my heart.

She also loves scary movies, though they’re not really my thing. While she’s happily watching something that makes her jump, I’m usually nearby with a book, glancing up now and then to see her laugh at her own fright. Somehow, it all fits. Her joy, her laughter, the flicker of candlelight through the window — it’s all part of the glow that October brings.

As I’ve gotten older, Halloween has become less about costumes and candy and more about connection. About seeing kids dressed up the way we once were, about the joy of neighbors handing out candy on their doorsteps. There’s a sweetness in the season that has nothing to do with sugar. It’s about belonging, memory and the ways joy returns to us year after year, often in the smallest moments.

The older I get, the more I think that’s what October light tries to teach us — to see again. To notice what endures: a spouse reading by the window, a neighbor raking leaves, the laughter of children in the twilight.

These small things tether us. Light found in the ordinary.

So, before the rush of the holidays, before the noise of November and December takes hold, I’m trying to linger here a little longer — to sit where the light falls, and maybe to remember that scarf I should have worn all those years ago. The light, after all, is kinder now. It forgives the small embarrassments and shines gently on what’s left: gratitude, memory and the laughter that never really fades.

This is the gift of late October light — it teaches us that the most beautiful things in life don’t need fanfare. Sometimes, they’re just waiting in the quiet, catching the light at just the right moment, asking only that we notice.

“Gratitude turns what we have into enough.”

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Richard Stride is the current CEO of Cascade Community Healthcare.