I am dreading the coming of Easter this year, which is a shame because Easter and Thanksgiving are my favorite holidays. But this year there will be no hiding an Easter basket for my granddaughter, no watching her hunt eggs in a frilly dress, none of those unspiritual distractions from the reality of the resurrection. And no granddaughter. I always knew the bond between McKenzie and I was dependent on the tenuous one between my son and her mother. I have no claim on her beyond that. At this point that bond is very weak and I have lost my only grandchild. I have pushed that knowledge away for a week, but now that it is time to prepare for Easter, I can no longer avoid it.
My dear default drive, logic, tells me that because I knew this could happen, it should not hurt so much, but I have learned enough about grief to know you can't logic your way out of it. And I have learned that when you do lose loved ones, the greatest comfort is knowing you loved them as well as you could for as long as you could. Loving from a safe distance is a bitter consolation. McKenzie and I had some wonderful times together and I am thankful for that. Thankful, and sad. This year I am mourning Easter for more than the cruelty inflicted on Christ for my sin, I mourn the brokenness sin still causes in lives and homes and hearts. I don't know how to finish this post, but that somehow seems fitting.
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