Easter, Pandemic Style

It's safe to say this was a unique Easter.

Many spent it in different ways than normal. In some ways, it was average for me. I know I had at least one where I refused to go anywhere and ate Chinese food as I spent the day alone.

Other years I'm guilted into doing something.

Anyway, there was something I had to do (yes, everything I've done for the past month has been a need), so we went out this morning, meeting my sister and nephew (six feet apart) at my dad's grave.

While it's often peaceful to be there, it's obviously more bitter than sweet.

My nephew asked me about my dad's passing, so I went down that rabbit hole of talking about it. Not that it bothered me.

Hillside Cemetery contains a few of my relatives. Besides my dad, there's his mother, my mother's parents, two of her brothers as well as three of my aunts and one cousin.

One of my father's best friends is also buried there and I visit it virtually every time I'm in the cemetery. My dad and I walked over to his grave one time (probably in the late 70s/early 80s).

"Always keep it clean," my dad said. "Nobody ever visits him."

The story goes that his friend suffered badly from caner (and that's the best I way I can describe it). His passing was so hard on my father that he didn't go to the funeral in 1971.

So, while it's not always easy to find, I walk to his grave and clean it. It's a small vow to honor my dad and keep his friend in someones memory.

As for my dad's grave, there are three tiles that were placed there by my nieces not long after he died in 1989. They stayed there for, I'd say, probably 28 years. They survived wind, ran, snow, lawn mowers, and whatever else until one disappeared a year or two ago.

Even when they'd fall, I'd normally find it near his grave and put it back in their rightful place.

Lately, this one piece of blue tile has not been found. It might be buried in dirt. It might have gotten swept up in a lawn mower. Or maybe my father decided he wanted one of them for himself and he took it (and I sort of love that theory -- because it feels like it's straight out of a horror movie).

Wherever it's gone, it has served its purpose, I suppose. That doesn't mean I'll ever stop looking for it.

Having my nephew there allowed me to serve as a bit of a tour guide, though admittedly my sister is the genealogist of the family. It allowed me to point out -- in person -- that my paternal grandmother (a fascinating woman who lived around Greenwich) would be 141 years old.

"She was born not long after the Civil War," my nephew noted.

Yup. Pretty wild.

To adhere with the rules of social distancing we truly did stay apart from each other, and were even able to grab sandwiches and eat "lunch" despite talking through the window of a car in a parking lot.

It worked and, again, it's because we had to do this.

So, that was my Easter. Hope yours was nice also if you celebrate. Otherwise, hope you had a nice Sunday.

A day at a time.

We're getting closer.