Day 385

Last night was awful. I hardly slept. Every time I drifted off to sleep I saw Dad’s face pressed against the window of the back door. The handle would rattle, but he couldn’t get inside. I’d rush to the door, eager to let him in, but each time I woke up before I could reach the lock. 

I have completed a full year of holidays without Dad, and this last one was the saddest — only because previously it had been the best. Technically, last Easter was my first without Dad, but he wasn’t dead yet. We were clinging to hope as one might cling to a life boat, but our boat sank. Mom really had a rough day. She walked with shoulders slumped and heavy steps as if the weight of missing Dad was simply too much to carry. It was pressing her into the ground.

Yesterday, Mom, my son, and I drove out to Greenport. I had hoped a day out would be fun for all of us, but Mom was sad the whole time we were there. We walked through the motions, doing what we so frequently did the day before Easter, but without Dad there was no joy. However, my son was happy to get a few more rubber duckies to add to his collection. Mom offered to take us out to a restaurant we often ate at with Dad. It has seating outdoors right on the water, so depending on the crowd, I might have felt okay eating there. But they were still closed for the winter season. Perhaps it was better. Eating fried clams without Dad would have only made us feel worse. 

In the late afternoon, my spouse arrived to spend Easter with us. She made Mom happy by fixing the toilet which had been broken for months. Mom was relieved that it was an easy fix and would avoid her having to call a plumber.  Upon arrival, my spouse was exhausted from another week of teaching school via a hybrid model. Anyone who thinks teachers have been on vacation during the pandemic doesn’t have a clue. Cases in her school are increasing. Almost daily letters get sent home to parents advising them of new cases. Apparently, school sports aren’t exactly safe. If they were, there would be less cases. My spouse, however, will get to teach from home the week after Spring Break. Why it’s only a week doesn’t exactly make sense. Students will travel, they will come home infected, and then they will return to school and infect others. It seems to me that they should be virtual for at least two weeks, but alas, parents wouldn’t tolerate it. They need their babysitters.

My son was cranky last night. Everything seemed to irritate him. When I asked him what was bothering him he told me he wanted everything to be perfect this year because it would be his last Easter in Mattituck. But he felt like nothing would be quite the way he wanted it to be. Not surprising. How could anything be perfect without his grandfather here?

After ten Easters in this tiny house, my son finally learned all the places I hide the eggs. His hunt took him less than four minutes — he timed it. Except for the one egg I did hide in a slightly different place — that one took him a little longer to locate. My son’s favorite part of Easter morning is searching for the presents we hide outside. It’s a tradition Mom and Dad started years ago, one my son was very adamant we continue this year. Mom wraps the presents. My spouse writes out clues as to where my son can find them. Then I hide them around the yard — by the shed, in the barbecue, by the cars, in the garden — and my son follows the clues until he finds them. I mean, he doesn’t really need the clues. We recycle the hiding places year after year, but the clues are tradition and my son wouldn’t have it any other way. Mom also puts money in plastic eggs — money my son can use to buy souvenirs when we go on our summer vacation — which I also hide around the property. He had to circle the house at least four times before he found them all.

During breakfast, I put out the bunny bread and crumb cake and cut slices for everyone since Dad wasn’t hear to do it. The egg smashing contest wasn’t the same without Dad, who almost always won. However, I must have been channeling his energy because I did nearly as well as he used to do. After breakfast, we took a walk in the local nature preserve. Mom couldn’t go far. Her legs were not good on the uneven terrain, and as I said early, her footsteps were too heavy, heart too sad.

Back at the house my son wanted to play a game. So while we played, I once again I took on Dad’s role and got everyone drinks and prepped the appetizers — both of which were always Dad’s favorite part of a holiday meal. But even the alcohol had no taste. It was another day of going through the motions, trying to make my son happy when all I wanted to do was curl up into a ball and cry, which I did while mashing the potatoes because once again that’s Dad’s job.

My spouse left after dinner. She doesn’t like it out here and never stays long. But at least she was here for a little while on the holiday. 

Tomorrow we go home so that we can take our son on a brief spring break trip — a change of scenery that we both desperately need.