And that’s that

I’m probably just going to have to come to terms with the reality that I just don’t like Easter.

It was never one of my big holidays. Certainly not as exciting as Christmas or Halloween when I was a kid. Certainly not as personally rewarding as my own birthday. I mean, after I moved to DC in the 1990s and got into the Independence Day rush, I think there was even a period when I was more excited about July 4 every than I was about Easter. Essentially, I remember some pleasant Easters as a kid. The one that really stands out is the one where we fled to Germany to put distance between us and Three Mile Island. Then I spent about two decades never having any idea when Easter was in a given year and then I met Christina, who introduced me to the annual tradition of planning an Easter meal and then spending the night before Easter obsessing about whether your yeast dough is rising or not.

I suppose that’s normal when you’re a teen and a single. If you’re not terribly religious – and we didn’t have terribly close ties to the church growing up – Easter kind of comes and goes because there’s not a lot in it for you if you’re not pious or obsessed with eggs. Even if you like chocolate I mean, once you’re an adult, you’re allowed to buy chocolate whenever you want. You don’t have to wait for Easter.

But you get kids and suddenly you’re aware of Easter every year. I mean, Noah – who can’t even eat eggs because of his allergies – made an Easter countdown calendar this year. And maybe it’s Germany or maybe it’s the passage of time, but it’s become like a mini-Christmas. The gifts are nowhere as plentiful or good, but there are still gifts, which I certainly don’t remember as a kid. And, assuming the bread doesn’t backfire, it’s a perfectly nice family celebration. As a bonus, during this never-ending pandemic, you can do most of the celebration without ever leaving your property.

Except, you know, it’s never that easy with us. Easter 2016 was Emma and Noah sent to the grandparents while Christina (I was useless) tried to create something like Easter cheer in a room in the children’s ward. Easter 2019 was one of the first times the nursing service left us high and dry, while we were busy trying to pretend that a doctor hadn’t told us just weeks before that he was pretty sure the tumor was back. It’s just a lot of memories.

But my kids are excited. The little girl next door is excited. The boys across the street are excited. You get caught up with things a little bit. Christina is planning a giant feast and I can’t say “You know what, I think I’d like to sit quietly in the den and read while you all do the holiday.”

So, I did what I could. I helped with the shopping. I had the Thursday before Easter off and I went to the cemetery by myself for the first time in ages. Of the four of us, Christina is, by far, the one who goes there the most and tends to the grave.

I don’t want to take care of the grave. I know someone has to and that someone is me and Christina, but it doesn’t change the fact that, in my mind, the only fair resolution is for the graveyard elves to come and tend to the grave. I want to go there and talk to Colin for a few minutes, which is, in and of itself, dumb, because I talk to him all the time, everywhere I go. I don’t need the grave to talk to him. And if I go with Christina, I get wrapped up with grave tending. And if I go with the kids, I get caught up with whatever nonsense might strike their fancy at that moment. And I never get there by myself, because it feels like we’ve been together in the house for 10 years now and I have a hard time abandoning the living – even if it’s only for half an hour, and especially if they’re the children I’m supposed to be minding – so I can go and sit in the cemetery by myself for 10 minutes and read “Green Eggs and Ham” to him.

I went secretly, because I didn’t want Christina to give me chores to do or batteries to change. I just wanted to go and sit and read. And then I realized that I was going to blog about it and she was going to find out, so I told her after I went. And I suppose it was nice, but it didn’t make Easter that much easier. We went through the motions the next few days and, like any big event, I’m spending too much time noticing not my children who are there, but the one who isn’t. I should have had one more child to put to bed the night before Easter. There should have been one more Easter basket. I should have had to put out some easier to find Easter eggs, instead of the pretty tough-to-find hiding spots we picked out this year. It’s never exactly right. To top it off, Facebook sent me a picture of him from Easter 2018, at his grandparents’ house, as a memory to share with everyone.

But we got through it. And then, when all the egg coloring and food preparation and temper tantrums and the backyard bonfire and the decorating were done, Christina turned to me, and I don’t remember the exact words, but it was along the lines of “I’m glad that’s over, because this is hard to get through.” And I was a little surprised, because she seemed so excited about it in the lead-up to Easter. But I suppose I shouldn’t have been too surprised. After all, if there’s one other person who’s going to have as hard a time as me with these holidays, it’s going to be the person who had to go through all those Easters with me from a parent’s perspective.