The days themselves aren’t as hard as I thought they would be. It’s the eves that do me in. Maybe it’s the anticipation. Of thinking about the day, of all the past days, of all the memories.

We didn’t often spend Easter together, so I thought perhaps this holiday wouldn’t impact me as much as others, such as Christmas and birthdays. But Easter is synonymous with Dad’s passing. He passed on Palm Sunday, and because it was a busy week for the holy folks, we didn’t hold his celebration of life until Easter Monday. The dates are different each year, yet the season reminds me these were our last days together.

And Mom loved Easter. I gave her a basket each year with treats and lots of chocolate, her favorite. I didn’t keep many of her clothes after she passed. There was a sweater I gave her one Easter, lavender with bunnies on it. She loved to wear that sweater. I kept that one. It’s too small for me; maybe I’ll repurpose it into a scarf. Or maybe I’ll simply pull it out of my drawer and remember how much Mom loved it and smile.

I was invited to a friend’s family get together on Easter eve. It was bustling, NCAA basketball was on the tv, and dozens of guests came throughout the evening. I made little treat boxes for the hosts. It was such a fun, joyful evening, the sadness of anticipation wasn’t dominant. When I got home, I reflected on our favorite Easters and fell asleep very grateful.