Easter was a Good Day.
Period.
No qualifiers, just a Good Day. *I’m taking grammatical liberties and capitalizing “Good Day” because it felt like a holiday. I know the rules; I’m breaking them.*
Honestly, it took me by surprise. I got to the end of the day, and didn’t feel thoroughly clobbered by the day. I didn’t feel that all I’d done was survive. I felt like I’d had a Good Day.
Church was uplifting, from the prelude to the benediction, from communion to a living cross, from lifelong friends to toddlers, from start to finish, church was uplifting. A perfect start to a Good Day.
I roasted vegetables and they were thoroughly edible. Sounds like no big deal, but you should see Saturday night’s burgers-turned-briquettes. I took the veggies and my other contributions and headed to the farm, where I spent the day with family—eating, laughing, imagining, riding trails, and just being together. We scouted our mushrooming spots (another week). Logan and Cass were both home and we celebrated Logan’s birthday in person for the first time in more than a decade. Some of us grew freckles and some of us turned pink-ish in the warm April sun.
It was a Good Day. An ordinary, extraordinary, Good Day.
Did I miss Cooper? Yes. Duh. That’s constant. But for once, the Good Day goodness surpassed the everyday sadness.
It’s hard to explain (I say that about so many things now) the surprise in a Good Day. I carry an emotional weight—sometimes invisible, sometimes entirely visible, always un-put-down-able—that can easily dominate my days. I’m always a deep sigh away from sliding into a memory or a recrimination, a question or an if only. For three years, I’ve kept my phone close. I’ve lived with dread and fear. I know for sure the worst can happen; having my phone within reach and face-up is a habit that helps ease my anxiety. Yesterday, I left my phone on the counter in the next room, and I was okay. I knew where my kids were; I could see them. And, in his way, Cooper was there, too. No phone call or sharp knock on the door could shove my world completely off its axis. That’s rare. I’ve answered that knock. I’ve made that phone call. But on this Good Day, I didn’t have to worry.
I try to take each day as it comes. Fighting the rhythm or path or whatever festival of hell is deciding the tenor of the day hasn’t worked for me, so I try to roll with it. Some days, surviving becomes the goal; all the extras are stripped away. I work hard to survive, and surviving takes every bit of me. Other days, I can work hard at making myself interested in some project (brace yourself for suncatchers). The extras—the distractions and hobbies and paint and beads and sunset camera rides—get me through. Each day as it comes, however it comes.
To have an entire day that was purely a Good Day is a blessing I won’t take for granted.
Woods Writes 