Day 374

The one year anniversary of Dad’s hospitalization and death, combined with Easter and funeral preparations is the perfect storm for a serious depression. For weeks now, every time I tried to begin composing Dad’s eulogy in my head, I didn’t get further than a sentence or two before tears washed the rest out of my head. And it happened often, multiple times a day. Things could be going well, then I’d start to think about what I was going to say, and that was the end of whatever peace I might have been enjoying in the moment. Last night, I forced myself to sit at my computer. For twenty minutes, I starred — eyes blurred with tears — at the screen, having no idea where to begin, until I settled on the obvious. The most honest: “I’m a writer. This should be easy. Finding the right words to convey my feelings are what I do best. I always have something to say, and maybe that’s what is making this a challenge. I’ve been writing about Dad for over a year.” Once I got started, it only took me about forty minutes to write the draft, forty minutes of continued crying. Even when I wrote the last word, added a period, and shut down my computer I couldn’t stop crying. I cried myself to sleep, and when I woke up in the middle of the night, I cried some more. My eyes and face were puffy this morning. Of course, the minute I stepped outside and started to walk, my mind drifted back to Dad, back to what I had written and the tears started in again. Sadly, I couldn’t even get through the day teaching my son without sobbing interruptions. It’s a good thing much of the work today he could accomplish on his own with little help from me. I think in the last twenty-four hours I’ve set some sort of crying record. 

Tomorrow, during the time slot set aside for writing, it will be my son’s turn to write a eulogy for Dad. I will give him as much time — as many days — as he needs to complete it. He’s been writing all year, it shouldn’t bee too difficult, but like me, he’s feeling more pressure about this assignment than any other. (I will post both eulogies in their entirety after the funeral.)

As disappointing as it is that my son no longer believes in the Easter Bunny, part of me is relieved. This season would have been even harder if I had to keep up the facade, pretend that there is really a benevolent bunny that hops around the world bringing candy to kids. Ironically, it was Easter last year that finally clued him in to the fact that there is no Easter Bunny. In his words, “If the Easter Bunny really existed, he would have brought me the same treats last year he always bought, and he would have hidden eggs.” If you remember, last year I was sick with COVID and quarantined from him. And Day lay dying. My spouse tried, but my son was too smart not to notice that without Dad Easter didn’t exactly happen. We had so hoped and prayed that Dad would come home. We had so desperately wanted to believe that we were only postponing Easter until he could be with us. Now, I want to cancel it because he will never be here again, and Easter will forever be entwined with the reality that God didn’t care enough to save him. But I can’t cancel it because my son is still young enough to look forward to it.