The hay bales in the field next to my grandmother’s house that provided hours of fun for the grandchildren on Thanksgiving day are mostly gone. Only a few bales remained Easter weekend, and the space were they once were was covered instead with beautiful bluebonnets in bloom.
Instead of jumping hay bales for afternoon fun the grandchildren gathered Easter eggs and then investigated the contents of their baskets.
The fields weren’ t the only thing displaying a new covering.
I had celebrated Thanksgiving by revealing my just-beginning-to-grow hair. My Easter style is curly, and thanks to a summer of chemotherapy I didn’t even need a curling iron for this look.
The winter was a time for me to claim a tentative victory over cancer, but that same season brought the end of my grandmother’s battle with that disease. We told her goodbye at Christmas time, and we missed her terribly at our family Easter gathering.
This is the second year my other grandmother, my mom’s mother, hasn’t been here to see her roses bloom, but the bush, transplanted yard to yard since the 1920′s then again to my yard, faithfully brought forth it’s usual showing of sweet scented blossoms.
Earlier in the day I had tucked a few of those fragile pink roses in with some other blooms for a little Easter bouquet.
Late in the afternoon, when all the eggs had been found and the hunting was over, it was time to leave my grandmother’s house and the family gathered there. With our bundle of flowers in hand, my Blonde girl and I left the Easter celebration to make a little visit to the cemetery to see the recently placed marker on her father’s grave before we returned home. Knowing that my grandmother was no longer there in the house where she had lived for so many years made driving away even sadder than our upcoming cemetery visit would have caused it to be. But as I left I took a look back at the house and saw little children sitting on the porch. They were counting the Easter eggs in their baskets just as my children had done a few years ago, just as my brother and I did even more years ago, probably as my father had done before that. The picture seemed right. And it was comforting.
To everything there is a season. May this season be one of joy for you and yours.