I’ve been angry at Easter. A reminder of my Good Friday breast cancer diagnosis, I’ve dreaded it since 2004. My sister hosted a hunt that Sunday. In a strange, suspended space, I helped her kids find all their eggs, and pretended my world was not broken. I didn’t know what else to do.
Excited about Easter this year, it took me a while to catch on. I couldn’t figure out why I had such Spring in my step. I mentioned its Early Bird arrival to Pixepa. Wasting no time, he combed the internet for an answer, as is his wise way:
“According to the BOOK OF COMMON PRAYER which lists the schedule for Easter covering the years 1786 through 2013, only once has/will Easter fall on a date earlier than this year: March 22, 1818. I only saw one or two other times that it fell/falls on March 23 as it does this Sunday. I think it was April 1, appropriately, 1956, that it snowed in Iowa on Easter when we all went to church in the pickup.”
Nowhere near April 9th, I’m feeling free to celebrate this Sunday. I love the reason and I love the season. I’m grateful each moment for my own resurrection and life. So much so that I think, maybe, just maybe, Easter and I are a-ok.
Here’s to daffodils, white shoes & God’s gift of a fresh start!
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