We provided a typical Easter holiday for our children: Church where they learned about Jesus’s sacrifice, pretty dresses with white patent shoes, dyed eggs, and chocolate delivered by a generous rabbit who responded to their questions despite having an impossible schedule to keep. They learned that the Easter Bunny’s name is Hobie and his handwriting looks surprisingly like mine if I were to write with my left hand. Since we are Southern where spring is in full bloom by late March, we always took pretty pictures besides budding azaleas.
Despite my longing for it to go backwards, the calendar plods on toward Easter – our second without Kylie. You might think we are getting in a groove by now, but we aren’t. Little things dig deep. Tears seem to come less frequently, but the heartache turns up like that last plastic egg you find in September because the kids gave up the hunt to eat the ears off of their chocolate bunny.