Or out of laziness like when I text my husband from upstairs: "Goodnight."
But a holy holiday somehow, in my mind, precludes utility.
Someone in Denver texted me on Easter Morning: "Happy Easter."
Yup.
That was it. It was enough to set me to tears. Days of them.
I thought about it for a long while before I texted back. I carefully and thoughtfully crafted my response: "Thanks. You too."
Because it wasn't what I really wanted to hear on Easter morning.
I mean, c'mon, Jesus rose from the dead, can't we just be honest for a day in honor of that?
And since I can just fantasize with my keyboard here, this is what I really wanted to hear, preferably in person, voice would've sufficed, text would have been the last choice (and really long to type):
"We miss you terribly. Holidays are not the same without you here. We all sit around and cry all day missing you and recollecting memories. Like the time you made us all laugh when you claimed to know something, or the time you beat up your little brother in your favorite game of verbal sparring... The absence of your presence is notable. I wish you well on this day of celebration that our sins are indeed forgiven since our savior conquered death. Happy Easter."
And thank God He did.
I have been demoted to a holiday text message. How quickly we're forgotten.
Yes, I could've called. But impressive and hindering is the weight of sadness.
And lest you worry that I'm just busy feeling sorry for myself here, I have a new companion. She too has recently been displaced, far away from her parents, and her siblings, and her home.
Her name is Juno, after the Roman Goddess, the protector of women.
And though she bites me sometimes, and is still learning to pee outside, we are enduring our sadness together.
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