An Easter full of hope

Easter Sunday was quiet for us again this year.

Many extended families have started gathering again, but not ours. Our family members have varying levels of comfort with gathering. I know one day we will be together again. But we can’t be together yet. And, so we wait.

As I set our table for four for Easter dinner, I thought of all the people who were part of our celebration even though they weren’t physically with us.

I brought out the crystal goblets and serving dishes that were some of our wedding gifts, and I thought of all the family and friends who were with us to celebrate that day.

I used china plates our late friend Regina gave me years ago.

I sliced carrots the way John’s mom used to and thought of the Easters we have celebrated with her. Her first Easter in Heaven must have been extraordinary. I thought of how she would have complimented me on every dish on the table, even the canned green beans and the store-bought rolls.

I served a bunny cake my mother made for us since we couldn’t be together—hand-delivered by my father on Holy Saturday.

Then there were the additions to dinner that maybe my sons will remember one day as mine—the gravy from a jar, the bunny-shaped butter, and the ham that was still cold at the center until I zapped it for a few minutes in the microwave.

Because it was such a lovely afternoon—and I clearly wasn’t worried enough about heating the ham—I slipped out of the house before dinner and went to the cemetery. I cut some forsythia from our bushes and brought a bottle of water to decorate two of the graves.

As I arranged the yellow branches at our nephew Georgie’s grave, I asked him to intercede for a few intentions dear to our hearts. Then I stopped by my grandparents’ grave and talked with them for a bit, remembering my Grandma and wishing I had memories of my Grandpa, who died before I was born.

I wasn’t the only one at the cemetery.

Children were running in the sunshine.

Adults were unloading flowers and decorations from their cars.

Families were sitting on folding chairs, gathered around graves, seemingly there to visit for a length of time. I marveled at how people were gathering as close as they could to their loved ones both on earth and in heaven.

Connecting with others is important—whether it’s across space or time or emotions. Easter shows us that no separation is too great to overcome. No separation is truly final. Death itself cannot keep people apart. And neither can a pandemic.

This Easter brings a special kind of hope and renewal, and we’re hungry for it. I hope you get a taste of it during this special Octave of Easter.

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