I guess I missed Easter. Oh well. The number of times I have gone to church since Dad died you could count on one hand. In fact you could maybe count them on one finger, no I think two. Sigh, I don’t want to be there. Dad was the church goer in our family. Sure my son went with him all the time but Dad belonged there. He never met a stranger. He loved to sit in the front row and snore through Pastor John’s sermon. But he was a church goer from long ago. One of the things that showed me true love was at the end of my 93 year old grandmother’s life. She was surrounded by dad and all of his sisters. They would gather at night and sign hymns. It was so beautiful. It was spiritual. It was holy. It was love.
I don’t find much solace at church right now. You would think after almost a year and a half that God and I would find some sort of middle ground. But I still have far more questions than I have answers. I so admire those that believe without question. The ones who feel the light and the love. When I say “Our Father” I really only think about MY father and why he is not with me. I think I believe in Heaven and that we will be together again. I want to believe it. I want to believe that my dad looks over us and knows when good things happen. That he was there in Ireland with Ryan. That he comforts mom when she cries. Maybe I am supposed to think of God like a father to me? Like my father? Oh this is not supposed to be about religion. I do not like to talk religion to anyone.
My point is. I spent Easter pretty much in bed. No Easter basket. No chocolate bunny. No ham sandwich. It was just a day. A cloudy, rainy, cold day. Not a celebration of re birth but a put your head under the blanket to keep the monsters away kind of day.
It would have been so much better with a chocolate bunny!