Easter has always been an interesting holiday to me. Celebrating Christmas, the birth of Jesus, seems completely natural; it's about new beginnings, parties, and rejoicing. Easter though, in honor of the death and resurrection of Jesus, has always seemed more serious. It just seems to me that it requires more reverence and reflection, still commemorating a joyful time, but somehow a more contemplative joy.
All of that is kind of a preface to say that Easter reminds me of another death that impacted me profoundly. This time of year always reminds me of my grandmother, who died in April of 2005. While we visited Cory's parents last weekend, she was heavy on my mind as we walked Clive through the streets of Ft. Stockton. I often think of her in association with Easter: dyed eggs and springtime, crosses with ribbons, and Jesus rising from the dead all remind me of her.
Because of her death, she barely missed my wedding- didn't quite make it to the pedicure party she was planning for me. We tied her rings to my boquet, and I slipped them on and off my finger as I walked down the aisle on the most important (and happiest) day of my life.
I missed her then, and I miss her now, but little things remind me of her: small towns, sprinklers, Caress soap, Doublemint gum, Velveeta cheese, tall sprawling trees, and mops. Now even playgrounds remind me of her because they are dedicating one to her in her hometown. I think that's appropriate because she gave her life to children- to the children in the elementary school and the church nursery where she worked, and to her children and grandchildren that she called the "light of her life."
Today I miss her, but I'm so thankful for the springtime, for Easter, and the warm memories of my grandmother.