That November Feeling

by Angela Sanford

   It’s fall in Nova Scotia, and there’s a definite change in the air. The leaves have begun to gather at the base of their trees, only a few clinging to the branches — reluctant to let go of the long days of summer, just like myself. As of November 1st, my poppy is pinned to my coat, finally secure with a centre that keeps it from slipping, a small symbol of compassion and gratitude for those who fought for the freedoms we experience.

   In schools, the sugar rush of Halloween is beginning to fade and this year the excitement was heightened by the anticipation of Game 6 of the World Series — a night filled with cheers, snacks, and team spirit. These moments are fun and full of life; they bring people together and give us something to celebrate.

   But as November settles in, I find myself wishing that a little of that same energy could spill into the days that follow — into the quieter time meant for remembering. Across Canada, people gather at cenotaphs, community halls, legions, and churches to share a silence that feels almost sacred.

   Schools, too, hold services of remembrance, often inviting veterans to attend. Yet I sometimes sense that these observances feel more like an obligation than a shared act of reflection. It isn’t a criticism, just an observation — perhaps it’s harder to find meaning in something that asks for quiet instead of excitement. Halloween is easy to celebrate; Remembrance Day asks us to pause and reflect.

   I love Halloween — its bustle, its laughter, the way it lights up the dark. And while I don’t attend a Remembrance ceremony every year, on the years I don’t, I make certain to listen to one. I’ll find a live broadcast, and when the clock strikes eleven, I stop whatever I’m doing, bow my head, and for two minutes I picture the faces of those I’ve lost, and those I never met, who gave in their own way to our freedom and I hope that one day peace will thrive.

   Those two minutes are always powerful; the silence overwhelming. When the bugle sounds The Last Post, The tears come easily. Maybe that’s part of why we shy away from the weight of remembrance — it touches something deep that we don’t always have words for. Still, I wonder how we’ll keep that bridge between past and present if we don’t walk across it. How will the next generation learn from history if we don’t help them see its meaning?

   After the silence, the noise slowly returns — softer, gentler, It reminds me that silence often speaks louder than any words. So each November, I hold onto that thought — that giving more energy to Halloween than to remembrance may be natural, but the quiet moments of reflection are the ones that shape who we are and who we hope to become.