As the days shorten, the feeling changes. The light leaves earlier. The air turns. Our attention drifts inward.

Halloween. Samhain. Toussaint. Día de los Muertos. Different traditions, different histories, yet gathered around these days is a recurring attention to the dead.

I believe there is something to the idea that the veil between worlds grows thinner at this time of year. But I wonder about the fear that so often accompanies it. Perhaps some of what frightens us is simply the unknown. We know what it means to lose someone. We know much less about where they have gone.

Recently, I had a tattoo made in honor of my dog, Suki, who died. I wasn’t going to forget her. Still, the act mattered — giving my love for her a visible place, carrying her with me.

We do this in so many ways. A photograph, a piece of jewelry, a story we keep telling. A name spoken aloud. Small acts through which someone remains part of our everyday life.

Perhaps the more we make room for those who have passed, the less distant death feels. It remains a mystery, but one that now holds someone we love.

I sometimes think they are around us anyway, and that what changes at this time of year may also be our willingness to notice, to remember, to feel their presence.

I don’t know what death is. But remembering her brings tenderness into that uncertainty. And perhaps that is enough to begin with, as the evenings grow darker — a little space for those we love, wherever they may be.