Unexpected Grief

I was caught off guard this week by grief as Easter is approaching. After ten days of photographing the Phoenix Film Festival with long covid, I was exhilarated and exhausted. I’ve been a volunteer at the festival for seven years, and I’ve met the nicest people. Last year, I could only photograph the first weekend because it had only been two months since Mom died, and the grief and exhaustion were too much to do both the photography and my tutoring. This year, I was able to photograph an abbreviated schedule, which usually included a nap after breakfast. It also gave me a break from grief.

Although I no longer attend church, Holy Week was a big part of growing up in a Catholic family. So many childhood memories have returned to me, bringing a heaviness to my heart. We always attended services on Holy Thursday and Good Friday. My mom would take the five of us kids to church. The aisle was the preferred place to sit, so sometimes, there was some tussling over the position. I still remember coming back from communion and trying to keep that seat when a woman in the row behind us pushed me down the aisle. I put my hands over my eyes and cried. There was no TV in observance of Good Friday from noon until three. The Saturday before Easter always felt like a weight had been lifted off me, with just the anticipation of candy in our Eater baskets to come. We’d get all dressed up for church, with my dad often buying corsages for my mom and his girls.

The weight I feel this year is different from my childhood. It is the deep missing of my mom and dad and the life we once shared. The calls on Easter morning when mom would start the call with, “He has risen,” and you responded, “Verily, he has risen.” Then we would talk for a while about what they had planned for the day. Dad would always make sure to send an Easter card. Although this is the second Easter without Mom, the fact that they are both dead and there will be no more calls or cards ever again has hit me so hard. Last year, I was still talking with my dad, so it wasn’t as bad as this year.

That’s the problem with grief: you never know what will crack your heart open again. I didn’t think that I’d be here feeling overwhelmed by Easter. Instead, just like Christmas, I feel like I’m living in limbo, where the days stretch out endlessly, and the dreams of sorrow have returned. Experience has taught me that I will get through these tough days, but it doesn’t make it easier when I’m going through it.