My Grandmother Died Today.

Well, not today this year. But on this day in 1989 she passed away. I was four when she died. The only real memory I have of her is a single hallway in her nursing home before her death. I remember pushing her down that hallway in her wheelchair and her roommate eating something that seemed like soap. I remember her cold funeral and mama crying. I've seen pictures since and heard stories. Grandma Pittman was beautiful. I miss her, even though I never really knew her.

This morning I was in a taxi with my friend Ree on my way to the Dublin airport, when I suddenly thought how I'd like a little coke. To outside people, this thought might seem like a passing thought. But what is unique about it is that my grandma would always ask (or so I've been told) when you came into the house if you'd "like a little coke." Then I remembered that today was the day we lost her.

I think Easter might very well be my favorite holiday. It makes it all ok. It's easily the most dramatic of the Christian holidays. It's a veritable rollercoaster ride of emotions. Beginning with the penitential season of Lent, we are walked through the weeks leading up to Easter constantly being reminded of what lays ahead of us for Christ and ourselves, always trying to prepare for what's in store. Then comes Palm sunday and the triumph of that day. Things are going well, right? Think again. Maundy Thursday arrives and we are faced with the grim reality of what the next day holds. We share the Lord's feast, breaking bread and passing the cup commemorating the first time it was eaten. In the simple actions of sustenance, we find ourselves dreading the next day.

Good Friday arrives, and with it comes the solemn reality of death. It seems like we lost. Crosses are draped in black, churches are dark. Saturday doesn't hold much improvement.

But just when you think you've had all you can take. Just when you think it's hopeless and pointless and over. Just when Christ's words "It is finished" take on their most direct meaning--it is over--Easter morning dawns and defeat is no longer an option...only life.

Only life.

Flowers are everywhere, crosses are dressed in pure white, celebrating the ressurrection, and all the doubt you had about it all happing according to the plan vanishes in the triumphant simplicity of "it worked."

That's why I can't really be sad for my grandma, for not knowing her. Because It worked, I know that the loss of this life is inconsequential in comparison to what we have coming.

Easter is a grand reminder of the promise we have and of the future we look forward to.

Thank God.

blessings.
jon.