Easter Sunday Scenes

There is always room for a new experience but I could have done without the one I had today.

Today is Easter Sunday and my first thought this morning was how much, a month ago, I had been looking forward to wearing a specific maternity outfit. I wore it for Easter with my second daughter and I love it.  It’s a white tunic with navy blue leggings.  The tunic has medium sized dots in blues and purples.  I feel a little like an easter egg wearing it, but it’s very comfortable and I have fond memories of wearing it.

But I don’t get to wear that any more, and my emotions stayed close.  I spent my morning thinking about my Savior, his birth, the thoughts Mary would have had during her pregnancy, how she felt as he died on the cross. . .  I thought about the Atonement and its ability to heal, knowing that I won’t always be filled with grief, but so overwhelmed by it that I knew church would be difficult. I kept wondering what it would feel like to have Him stand in front of me with tears in his eyes, then hugging me as I cried on His shoulder.

Dying Easter eggs and making breakfast were not great distractions when all I wanted to do was crawl back in bed.  I couldn’t ruin all of the normal Easter festivities for my girls though and I knew we needed to go to church.

In LDS services, members from the congregation give the sermons in small segments called talks.  The first speaker was a young woman around the age of 17.  Her words mirrored my thoughts of the morning, but from the heart of someone who has never been hurt the way I have been. Tears silently streamed down my face as she talked about the healing power of the Atonement and my attempts at wiping them with the handkerchief from my grandmother were only partially successful. I could tell that a few members of the choir, who were sitting on the stand, could see I was wiping tears, but it seemed that others around me were unaware.

The second speaker got up and began talking about birth and death and I had to focus on breathing.  When she mentioned families looking forward for months for the birth of a baby, my inner dialogue yelled, “BUT MY SON DIED BEFORE HE WAS BORN!  IT’S NOT SUPPOSED TO WORK THAT WAY!”

I got up immediately and started sobbing before I was out the door, unable to keep my grief contained. Once the doors to the chapel closed behind me, I walked slowly by sheer force of will.  All I wanted to do was run, and keep running, but there was nowhere to run to or even a room to go in and hide. I walked all the way around the halls and then sat quietly in a chair in the foyer, wanting to listen but wishing harder than ever that I had a place to hide and listen at the same time.

One of the sister missionaries came over, understanding that something was wrong and feeling the need to say something, but not knowing what.  She bent over and gave me a hug and asked if there was anything she could do.

There isn’t anything anyone can do.

I managed to pull myself mostly together to go back in and join my family.  My 3 year old was giving the prayer in primary in a few minutes and was going to need a little help but my husband couldn’t do it because he was teaching one of the Sunday School classes. I sat quietly in the back of the primary room until it was her turn to give the opening prayer, then helped her along a little. 

I was a wreck and my crying was going to disturb everyone around me. I didn’t want to be home alone, so I brought my precious miracle daughter with me to help keep me on task with dinner and to keep me from entirely losing it again.

It worked a little. I did manage to finish cooking our little Easter dinner, but not without some tears and a very short temper.

Today was definitely harder than Friday, and I hadn’t thought that was possible at this point. I miss my son. I have so many questions about what his death means for my family in the eternities. I want to be able to tell my daughters that Jackson will be with us again someday, but in all honesty, I don’t know that and I can’t do anything more than tell them “We don’t know” when they start asking questions. I’m not in the habit of lying to protect feelings and I hope that someday my honesty will mean something to them.

Realistically speaking, this will likely happen again but I just hope I can handle it better next time.

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