Yesterday was Easter. It was a perfect day, too perfect. The sky was a cloudless blue. The flowers were flowering. The blooms were full. Fragrance danced on the gentle breeze. And I was full of dread.
But first the good stuff; then I'll get to the dread. Sunday morning bright and early we saw that the Easter bunny had visited. Two candy-laden baskets sat on the couch. Pastel plastic eggs were hidden all around the living room; the boys raced around wildly and found them all. We had to keep telling Sam to slow down. He's three years older than his brother, and it's easy for him to skunk the little guy on egg collecting. He'd love to do that, too, if it wasn't for his evil parents slowing his pace.
Then we trekked down to Mark's parents' house. We do Easter there every year. An hour-and-a-half's drive, it's not a quick hop, but the day was so gorgeous, so perfect, and so peak that it was impossible not to be happy because it may never be so beautiful again. My eyes wanted to drink it up, to photograph it because this loveliness won't be the same even a week from now.
It reminded me of that poem about spring by Robert Frost. It starts like this:
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower,
But only so an hour.
We had a nice lunch, lots of food, lots of people. My stepdaughter, Rachel, was there. She was in good form. She's about five months pregnant and she's gained thirty (badly needed) pounds. She was bright, smart, and happy. We had lots of fun giggling together over stupid, silly stuff like "tub puppy" puppets that the boys got in their Easter baskets. I took pictures of Rachel chasing Sam with a tub puppy. I clicked a flick while Mark was talking to his tub puppy in the pose of Hamlet talking to the skull. It was fun, fun, fun.
On the way home, in the car, I told Mark a story so stupid it got me laughing until I cried. Sam got into the spirit and demanded I play a game with him. He wanted to play PIG with a basketball but since we had no goal or ball and we were traveling down the highway at high speed, we had to pretend. "I'm so good, I can shoot it with my foot, " I said. I hit it! He lifted his foot and shot. Too bad. He missed and got a "P." Then I shot with my hip, elbow, shoulder, and head. I hit it every time. Unfortunately, Sam missed two more along the way so he got his "I" and "G." I gloated over my victory, and Mark said I was the Michael Jordan of Imaginary PIG. I love that title.
The weather was perfect. The food was perfect. The people were perfect. The laughs were perfect. I wasn't perfect. I kept thinking about last Easter. My dad died at 9:20 p.m. on Saturday night before Easter morning. Last year, when lots of people were getting up for sunrise service, I was still awake, red-eyed and sick with sadness. After my kids found their eggs that morning, I had to tell them that their papaw was dead. Instead of going to my in-laws' for last Easter dinner, Mother and I planned a funeral.
Even as we were having this bright, special day at my in-laws' yesterday, I kept thinking that we won't be doing this forever. They are in their late seventies. One of these days, these family occasions will be just a fond childhood memory for my children. Everyone is getting older, and these glory days of mine will fade. Since turning forty, I've had to get glasses, have my gall bladder removed, and now I have high blood pressure. My mother is all that stands between me and the edge of the generational cliff. Grandparents and Dad are all gone.
I went outside Easter evening to look at the last light of day. First stars were sending their faraway light through darkened clouds. The sky was just beginning to turn an inky purple. A bat flittered above and then out of my line of sight. I lay on the ground and let my mind drift. I thought to myself quiet, quiet, quiet. Then a thought raced through my head in neon. It said, "I don't want to die."
Then leaf subsides to leaf,
So Eden sank to grief;
So dawn goes down to day,
Nothing gold can stay.
--Robert Frost
Julie Parmenter lives and writes in Southern Indiana. She is the mother of two boys, and has contributed several short essays on family life toMinnesota Parent.
