When I was a little girl I would wait all year for it. While most kids waited for Christmas, I waited impatiently for Easter. I loved everything about it. Everything was so perfect; from the dying of the eggs on Holy Thursday and the “Crveno Belo” tradition, to the coordination of the dress and the hat (which was crucial to me), to the fasting in preparation for Holy Communion, to the special midnight mass where we walked around the church by candlelight and waited at the door while the priest knocked three times as we sang “Hristos voskresna od mrtvite/So smrta, smrta, ja pobedi/I na tie vo grobovite/Zivot, zivot im dade”, to the three Hristos Voskreses in a row at the end of mass, to the egg cracking in the hall, afterward,while the coffee and topla rakija flowed and we children ate cupcakes and cookies, to the grand dinner complete with my grandmother’s yogurtlitava and the lamb that I wouldn’t eat, to the exuberant Easter Dance. Easter was always my favorite holiday.
When you’re little, though, things are so different.
Growing up somehow allows you to see how things really are, and there’s this ugly truth that changes things. Embracing the traditions merely isn’t enough. The negativity surrounding reveals the negativity of people and clouds perspective. It’s sad and I wish it was different.
I can sit here and wish for things to be the way they were when I was in the age of innocence, but what good does that do? Right now, it’s enough to simply remember the wonder of that time in life when I would get butterflies in my belly before the special day. It’s got to be enough. That’s what I will hold on to and that’s what I strive to figure out how to create again for myself and for my children.
So, what I’m left to do is mix the traditions I know while making new ones.
This Easter the new ones involved opening our home and hearts to friends. I dyed the eggs on Holy Thursday and did “Crveno Belo”, too. But, on Good Friday I enjoyed time with my friend, Angie. I got to finally meet her husband, Patrick, and their beautiful daughters, Anna and Claire. I got to share my family with them, got to feed them, laugh with them, tell stories with them, and was able to create a nice place for them to rest their heads when the time came. This was definitely a blessing.
The time was short, but it was filled with moments of happiness. And before they came, I had the butterflies in my belly. With each text message that revealed how close they were to our house, my belly felt the excitement and anticipation.
That’s the magic of a holiday. Even though it changes over time, or it isn’t what [you] are used to expecting, there’s beauty and wonder to behold. Wishing for things to be different only hardens the heart. It’s accepting that things change that opens it back up.
While I have mixed emotions about it all, I’m learning to accept it. Learning.
In the meantime, just lying in the grass and connecting to innocence through my youngest son is helping to teach me more about life, and it’s true meaning.
