Thankfulness at Easter

I usually write a blog over Easter. I wasn’t sure if I could this time. My mind has been in a flurry. It’s amazing to me how the grief I’m going through is impacting my body in new ways. Inflammation levels in my body have been skyrocketing and my RA’s having a field day. RA is a systematic disease so it’s impacting other parts of my health. My rheumatologist was concerned when I went to see him two weeks ago. Our usually lighthearted chat was a bit sober when he explained the dangers and the need for increased medication. It didn’t help that I was upset by the results and bawled my eyes out. I’ve been working so hard to be well. I’ve been eating right for years, exercising heaps and heaps, and it all feels like a pointless effort. It also makes me think – I miss my father. It will be my first Easter without him, my eighteenth without my mum, and my first without both. I miss home.

I’ve calmed down a little over the last two weeks. I think the medications are helping. There have also been all sorts of other news since – close friends losing loved ones, close friends needing good help at home but struggling to find it, close friends struggling with long-term health issues, and close friends dealing with terminal illnesses of their loved ones. My brain has felt lots of shock and sadness as I’ve received these bits of news. It feels like a whole season of struggle where the hits just keep on coming. There doesn’t need to be so many chart topping hits in this category of struggle. The whole thing has been staggering. In the middle of this, a tiny voice at the back of my head reminds me I miss my father. It will be my first Easter without him, my eighteenth without my mum, and my first without both. I miss home.

Perhaps it is right that my thoughts on the season of struggle coincides with the approach of Good Friday and Easter. Now that’s an example of bittersweet if ever there was one. Bitter because of what it cost Jesus, the Son of God, and sweet because of the implications of his resurrection that we celebrate and reflect upon. This year, I cannot help but be thankful that there is the cross and the resurrection to hold on to. My parents believed and they taught me their faith. Christ died for our sins and all who believe in Him are given eternal life and the right to be called children of God (John 1: 12-13). I don’t know why I’m so thankful for Good Friday and Easter this year. It doesn’t change the fact that neither papa or mummy are here with me. It will be my first Easter without papa, my eighteenth without mummy, and my first without both. I miss home.

Whilst Good Friday/Easter don’t change my present day circumstances, they give me hope, which I think my situation would otherwise have sucked out of me. I have hope that this low feeling of dread that constantly pops up is not permanent. I have hope that this hole in my heart from missing my dad’s calm, quiet presence is not permanent. I have hope that this eighteen year wound in my soul left by mum’s departure is not permanent. I have hope that my home so gut wrenchingly shattered is not irrevocably gone. In the middle of this season of struggle where I feel wave upon wave of sadness – my own and for my closest and dearest friends whose sorrows I cannot but feel for, it is good to have hope. Not just any kind of hope, but certain hope. Move over Jedis, here comes Jesus. I know I can trust Jesus. Why? Because He is good. He is well and truly good. There’s a verse in the Bible that says that one will scarcely die for a righteous person, but that perhaps for a good person, one would even dare to die (Romans 5:7). The truth is, not a single person can say that they are deserving of Jesus’ death because not a single one of us is good enough (Romans 5:8). Jesus knows me at my worst. He knows the evil in my heart, the lack of charity in my thoughts, and the slowness that prevents my doing good. Yet He took my place and died for me. He defeated my death, so that this pain I have, this heartache of a life, is but temporary. It is much to be thankful for because I am sad. This will be my first Easter without papa, my eighteenth without mummy, and my first without both. I miss home. Jesus gives me hope – that my story doesn’t end on this note.

Papa and mummy- never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d ever feel this way. I know we each had our imperfections – it wasn’t always Christlike. Yet, I am grateful to you for teaching me about the cross. I know we will meet again because of Jesus. This gratitude is mixed with sadness – I have tears. It will be my first Easter without you, papa, my eighteenth without you, mummy, and my first without you both. I miss home.