Easter, a holiday my family always treasured. My mother going to extremes in order to make us happy every year and no matter how old we became, we still got excited.
The routine went as such ~
We woke up in the morning to a soft toy and a chocolate by our beds; the first toy I ever got became my best friend for the next 10 years till he began falling apart. I cherished every toy she left on that bed, and as she became sick the toys began bringing something with them, almost some form of hope. If we could make it to one Easter, we could sure as hell make it to the next and that was worth celebrating.
The celebration would continue with breakfast, homemade pancakes, bacon eggs, everything you could possibly want and more. A spread fit for three queens I thought. This tradition slowly changed as mum became sicker, I began taking over, and she would lie in bed that little bit longer, still recovering from her previous chemotherapy. So I would wake up early, cook breakfast as best I could and bring it to her in bed, where we would all share in each other’s company, all happy we had made it to another Easter.
After breakfast, we invited the whole family round and Mum would run her world famous ‘Easter egg hunt.’ A tradition I begged her to keep every year, almost becoming more excited, as I got older. What I loved most was seeing the joy in her eyes when we started running round the house finding them, while at the same time what was brining me joy was the fact she was happy. We were almost doing it for each other. Who knew something so trivial could give us such hope.
Following the famous hunt we all sat down to dinner, another feast for all the familiar faces we brought into our house. Everyone happy to be together. Everyone just excited about making another Easter.
So there you have it, a world famous day for our family, one I loved celebrating, even if our reasons were slightly different to others. Easter is coming around again, only a few days away, and this Easter I feel myself almost lost. Scrambling with ideas, trying to piece small bits together, so I could attempt to continue the tradition, or at least some of it, as Mum would have wanted.
But this Easter is not the same, for we will no longer be celebrating, as Mum didn’t make it to this Easter. We had no idea at the time, but last Easter would be her last, it would be the end of all our traditions, no more toys at the end of the bed, no more breakfast fit for queens, no more family dinners, no more feelings of joy, and…
…No more Easter egg hunts.