Easter

It has been four months since I received the call from my family telling me that Dad was being taken to the hospital and wasn't doing well. I remember many of the events of the next few days quite clearly, and others through a fog of pain, loneliness, and sleep deprivation.

My Daddy is gone. The man I counted on to teach me to ride a bike, pitch a tent, and solve trigonometry problems isn't in Albuquerque this morning getting ready to lead Sabbath School. The man who took me and my friends hiking, who never missed any of my high school basketball games, won't be watching baseball this season and talking to the TV screen. The man who comforted me when a boyfriend broke up with me, who consoled me when I broke an engagement, who hurt when my husband left me, won't be asking how I'm really doing.

I have hope that I will see my Daddy again, and next time he will be strong and funny, leading a camping trip, holding a baby, chasing a toddler, treating a whole group of grandchildren to doughnuts or ice cream.

But today, the day between Good Friday and Easter Sunday, I miss my Dad. Like Jesus slept, he sleeps.

I know that he rests, I know that he was tired, and sick, and that he had lived a worthwhile life. I know all that, I know he is safe, the God guards him and keeps him, but I miss him so much. Good Friday wasn't good until after Easter. The 'Day of Rest' wasn't restful that first Easter weekend - it was a day of terrible sorrow and sadness, which isn't at all restful.

I can't wait for the Resurrection - the Reunion.
I love you, Daddy.