Hope at Easter

The first Easter after Daniel died, we left Durham for the coast of
Virginia. On that Sunday, we attended a huge outdoor celebration,
happy with resurrection songs of praise and a lengthy sermon. I
recall telling the stranger next to me that my son had just died.
I also remember leaving the service early with my broken family.

Desperately, I wanted to see my own child alive, laughing and enjoying
his Easter basket, along with his new baby sister, brother, and older
sister.

Now thirteen years later, I still see in my mind, my little son
with his Easter basket, digging into all the gooey candy. Easter brings
back a cartful of memories. At age two, he had his photo taken at Olan
Mills in a gray suit (his Easter suit), his blond hair in need of a
haircut. He also had gum on his lapel. The Easter he was three was just
a month before his cancer diagnosis. We were naive then, content, joyful,
as Daniel searched for the colorful eggs his grandparents hid. We
didn't know what the future held.

Easter makes me grateful that because of the resurrection, that
because of forgiveness, mercy and grace, there is new life.
Easter is hope. Easter reminds me that those who have died are
still alive, just hidden, like eggs, from our earthly eyes.

See you soon, Daniel.