We went to the cemetery to bring the eggs that we painted.

The kids were excited to bring them to Marisa’s grave. 

Zekijah asked dozens of questions.  Her questions not only prove that she doesn’t understand what has and is happening to her but they also prove my/our importance in her life.  She is approaching 3 years old and that math tells me that she is at the point where she will have lived longer without a mom than with a mom.

At three years old.

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Jacoba made hers with precision and purpose. 

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Zion was proud of his. 

 

 

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After Jacoba and Zion brought theirs to the side of the grave, Zekijah refused to.  It didn’t seem right to her.  (It didn’t seem right to me either).  Then Zion counselled her and said that if she left the egg there, “Mommy would be happy”.  Zekijah then oblidged.

It is a pensive moment when you stand next to a believer’s grave between Good Friday and Easter.  It is a meaningful, broken, holy and thin place. 

A blessed Easter to you all.  And to Marisa, who is celebrating Easter every day in full.

MdH

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