Easter Sunday. The day of the resurrection, for believers. And for not believers, it was at least a day to celebrate spring, food, and family.
She was still staring at the wall.
The sky, a flat boring gray, didn’t help cheer her up. People with children were still posting cute photos of their children dressed up and with their overfilled Easter baskets. She was amazed at their ability to fake it. But she guessed they had to, for the children. The kids didn’t understand what was going on, and parents were trying to hold on to whatever threads of normalcy that they could. Some days she excelled at faking it, but she just didn’t have the energy today.
She scrolled past endless coronavirus Easter memes, some lighthearted, some darker. She liked the one of Jesus, splayed on the cross. Someone had added an arrow from one impaled palm to the other indicating the length people should remain from one another. Ha.
Poor Jesus, little did he know that thousands of years later his death image would be hung from necks, church rafters, and shared a billion times in silly memes.
There were eggs and bunnies, jokingly decorated with little masks on.
People were really having fun with the pandemic, and she couldn’t blame them. If one wasn’t laughing the other option would be to cry, right?
The air was starting to feel heavier though, to her. Over 100 thousand dead. All that energy, gone. All that combined sadness and loss of their relatives weighing on the collective soul of humanity. It had to touch each person, eventually.
She was starting to feel it. Just a little sting or nip here or there. That tiny pit and falls in the belly when running into another sad fact or statistic. An image of a mass grave, or a plea from a war-torn nurse. It was getting harder to hold it together, but that was the only choice one had.
So the Easter bunny had come, face mask and all, and the children gorged on chocolate while the adults gorged on ham and dessert, while thousands lay gasping for their last breaths of suffocating air.
She was still staring at the wall.
The sky, a flat boring gray, didn’t help cheer her up. People with children were still posting cute photos of their children dressed up and with their overfilled Easter baskets. She was amazed at their ability to fake it. But she guessed they had to, for the children. The kids didn’t understand what was going on, and parents were trying to hold on to whatever threads of normalcy that they could. Some days she excelled at faking it, but she just didn’t have the energy today.
She scrolled past endless coronavirus Easter memes, some lighthearted, some darker. She liked the one of Jesus, splayed on the cross. Someone had added an arrow from one impaled palm to the other indicating the length people should remain from one another. Ha.
Poor Jesus, little did he know that thousands of years later his death image would be hung from necks, church rafters, and shared a billion times in silly memes.
There were eggs and bunnies, jokingly decorated with little masks on.
People were really having fun with the pandemic, and she couldn’t blame them. If one wasn’t laughing the other option would be to cry, right?
The air was starting to feel heavier though, to her. Over 100 thousand dead. All that energy, gone. All that combined sadness and loss of their relatives weighing on the collective soul of humanity. It had to touch each person, eventually.
She was starting to feel it. Just a little sting or nip here or there. That tiny pit and falls in the belly when running into another sad fact or statistic. An image of a mass grave, or a plea from a war-torn nurse. It was getting harder to hold it together, but that was the only choice one had.
So the Easter bunny had come, face mask and all, and the children gorged on chocolate while the adults gorged on ham and dessert, while thousands lay gasping for their last breaths of suffocating air.
Comments
Post a Comment