Easter has long since passed, but I've been hanging out there in my mind. Thinking, processing, searching.
My brother died five months ago.
I made it through Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years. Not without missing him and thinking of him, but without the hurt. Since I was little I've always been a bit emotionally stunted. My processor takes awhile to catch up with reality. So this delayed mourning didn't surprise me.
But Easter was hard.
We had the best time dying eggs and having an egg hunt with our new neighborhood. I was surrounded by family and got to cook and host. We played cards and grilled out. The weather was perfect.
But I was mad.
Felt a bit lied to.
Because you know that part of the Bible where they talk about how Death has lost it's sting?
Death still hurts like hell.
And I miss him. We all do. And that's not very fair.
In year's past, I've celebrated Easter in a very personal way. Each member of my little family was saved from a life that wasn't, well, this. And that has always resonated with Easter in my mind. Old things new. Dead things alive.
I've come through this particular pain.
While I'm under no illusions that grief won't slap me from the side from now until forever, I can look at this particular holiday and not be mad.
Because it was a fabulous day.