It’s Easter Sunday and I woke up in a fury over all of the people who went away to their cabins over the long weekend, who are refusing to cancel Easter parties, who are gathering on picnic blankets on the lawn out front of the hospital near us, beers in hand, yukking it up as I cross the street to keep Dot and I six feet away. I know that I can only focus on myself and my actions, but it’s so easy to think, “I’m cloistering my kid in our little apartment, she hasn’t seen her grandparents in over a month, all so that you can keep up with your busy beer pong schedule? So you can go to your SECOND home when so many people are struggling to afford their rent, and spread disease to communities without medical facilities?” I’m scared for what the next few weeks hold.
But it’s Easter, and I found this handmade smocked Easter dress that my mom kept from when I was Dot’s age, and my mom dropped off some Easter treats yesterday, so we had a little egg hunt. Dot ate a chocolate bunny and some “gummy’s bears” and then I made pancakes. Mostly, she was confused about the whole thing. But we did what we could. We tried, in a small way, to make it special for her.
Holidays are hard, I think, because I can’t imagine what next Easter will look like. I can’t picture our whole family gathered around a table again. Right now, despite the partiers outside my window who are “wooooo”ing and playing loud music, my life feels as if it will be un-peopled forever.
Tonight, I found a photo of me when I was Dot’s age, wearing the same dress. When she was a baby, we looked a lot alike. People on the street would often stop us to say things like, “Well, there’s no mistaking that she’s your daughter, eh?” But it was lovely to hold the two photos side-by-side and see that Dot is no longer a carbon copy of me, but her own person. She is growing into herself so wonderfully. She is becoming exactly who she is.
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