Every morning feels like a battle against an invisible force since Cole unexpectedly passed away eleven months ago. Easter Sunday, however, serves as a cruel reminder of the gaping hole in our lives left by his absence. I truly tried to forget Easter was coming upon us, but we got back from vacationing in Gatlinburg and immediately (the following day) had plans with the family to celebrate. Easter stood as the poignant reminder, marking the last holiday in the calendar year since Cole’s passing nearly a year ago, leaving behind a family forever mourning his absence. Holidays are no longer a time I look forward to and doing things as a family simply isn’t the same. It’s like trying to play a song on a broken instrument. The melody is there, but it’s marred by the absence of certain notes, creating a bittersweet tune. It’s as if a beautiful painting was missing its most vibrant color. Each celebration feels incomplete, lacking the warmth and brightness that Cole brought to every moment. The joy of the season is overshadowed by the ache of his absence, leaving a void that can’t be filled.
Dragging myself out of bed, I am weighed down by the burden of grief, the weight of which feels unbearable. The air in our home is heavy with sorrow, suffocating any semblance of joy. Nevertheless, we muster the strength to hide plastic eggs filled with money and assemble a modest basket for Lexi. Literally, we used eggs, candy and decorations we already had.
Lexi, my daughter, awakens with the innocent anticipation typical of a child on Easter morning. She assumes our lack of Easter preparations is due to our recent return from Gatlinburg, oblivious to the silent agony that encompasses Mark and me. I know she is in utter sadness and truly misses waking up with Cole, playing games with him, vacationing with him, making videos with him, eating dinner with him, dancing with him, and teaching him new things. Lexi carries a tremendous heartbreak but masks it with a facade of composure, finding solace in the act of pretending to be alright. I suppose she learns that behavior from her Mother and Father, whether intentional or not.
As Lexi eagerly searches for eggs, her laughter reverberates through the house, amplifying the emptiness left by Cole’s absence. The truth is Cole would be so excited for Easter and since he always woke up early, he would have an opportunity to see where some of the eggs were hid before the hunt event started. Lexi, still, always found more eggs. None of that mattered because for Cole it was never about how many he had compared to someone else, it was always the idea of getting to find eggs. For a minute while I watch Lexi, it’s pure joy knowing that she still appreciates the simple things in life like finding eggs. She also had us laughing pretty hard as she pulled out each of her items in the basket and told us exactly what it was, where it was from, and how long we’ve actually owned it. She vividly recalled the pink bunny something she bought with her own money one year. We had a good laugh over this until she said, let me guess the money came from Dad? Mark responded no, it came from your piggie bank. We all thought that was pretty funny and laughed some more. It was a joke, by the way, we’re not that bad.
Deep down, I am drowning in an ocean of grief, my soul consumed by the pain of losing my precious son. The mere act of breathing feels like an insurmountable task, each moment a reminder of the life stolen from us far too soon. Easter is simply another reminder that Cole appreciated life so much and everything in it. He may have been too young to truly understand this because most adults don’t, however, Cole viewed everything as an opportunity. He had a profound appreciation for everyone and everything around him.
Night descends like a heavy curtain, casting the world into darkness. Lying in bed, I am surronded by the silence, the echoes of Cole’s machines alarming, which I promise I still hear, haunting me like a cruel taunt. There has not been one night that has been the same without my sweet boy. I, often times, wake up in the middle of the night to scroll through pictures and videos just so I can see him and pretend like we are together.
As tears stain my pillow, I cling to the memories of Easters past, where Cole’s presence illuminated our home with boundless love and joy. But now, the warmth of those memories only serves to intensify the cold reality of his absence. And so, I resign myself to the cruel truth that Easter will never be the same without him. For as long as I live, his absence will remain a gaping wound in my soul, a constant reminder of the precious life that was stolen from us far too soon.