I am fortunate. My husband died in the season new life takes root. He loved Easter, rather he loved the promise that while darkness held Jesus in its grip those three days, the light of resurrection stripped death and darkness of its power. Real life, and real light, took up permanent residence.
By some strange coincidence, his passage into death mirrored his beloved story. I was there. I felt his spirit enter mine after he died. I don't feel very sorry and sad, either for him or for myself, on this seventh anniversary.
I haven't wanted to celebrate Easter since he passed. I haven't followed the Christian calendar. A little sting still there? I have 'followed' God, though, so I'm quite sure God isn't bothered by my little failure of Christian etiquette.
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