A few days before Easter, I received a card from a friend’s mother who I hadn’t seen in a while. A lot had gone on in both our lives during that time of not connecting. It wasn’t the Easter card I expected. Instead, the front was covered in hearts like a Valentine with the words “Miss You Much.”
I was on the fence about attending Easter dinner at her daughter’s. Like many people, I had opted out of several gatherings the past two years for Covid-related reasons. As life returned to a semblance of normalcy, those pandemic-related reasons morphed into less decipherable ones for me. Grief? A need to retreat and renew? The world has wrenched our hearts and souls in breathtaking ways that have made cocooning seductive.
Teresa’s card made me re-think the Easter invitation. A generous, passionate woman, she embodies life and joy for many of us who know her. I realized I missed not only her but joy. Where had it gone? How long since joy and I had met, had a good cry, a riot of laughter, a simple smile across the table over a meal, a cup of coffee, a glass of wine? There had been occasions here and there, if I was honest, but I wanted to be plugged into it and lit up like a Christmas tree. I longed for the brush of a feather across my face, an angel’s kiss, the movement of air in its wake, the slow gurgle within to become a rushing brook that overflowed with undammed joie de vivre.
The bolt of electricity did not come. No gentle feather on my face. Not even a sweet whisper or a happy babble from that brook. I was hampered by blind spots, and I had lost the raptor’s 180-mile-high view.
But with the acceptance of that Easter invitation came an opening. It was a nudge to lift the blinds, refocus my gaze, to partake in Life. The twilight zone between light and dark is unavoidable and sometimes necessary to get to the space beyond that allows a dam to break and the joy that comes from connection, even if it’s a string of lights for starters.
Divine Ready 