Traditionally we go to friends’ for Easter brunch.
We hide eggs for about 15 kids. We eat a lot, drink a lot. My friend, who is diabetic , drinks too much and gets louder and louder- until it becomes a fever pitch and it’s time to leave. Last year I broke one of their lawn chairs. Ugh I thought, really?
Today I went to church, worked with the children’s program – where kids had a feast. Everyone pitched in to make it a nice event , memorable. When we got home, our kids looked for eggs- a little taller & more skilled this year, but still little! Time ticked furiously, I could rest before the party.
And then my broken heart returned like a wave crashing on my head. It began really hailing outside. I burrowed deep into my fleece blankets and thought of who I would truly be pleasing at our scheduled brunch. These aren’t my fm true friends, sadly that would understand my stress- that we are in crisis behind our masks and I am hurting and grieving alone.
So I stayed home. I slept a lot and tried to nurse myself back to peace. My children were disappointed. MI wasn’t too successful in hiding my depression from my family, but at least I didn’t put myself in the spotlight, pouring gas on the fire at the brunch. I gracefully texted my friend, told her the half truth that I wasn’t feeling well… And let it go. Next Easter has got to be better than this one.