As kids, Easter Baskets – are what we remember most about Easter Sunday. Memories of fun filled yummy Baskets and wearing our little Sunday outfits to Church. Then, off to Grandma’s or someone’s house for a feast.
When my son was alive – I’d put together a huge basket of goodies and fun stuff to surprise him with. Then we’d sit and read ‘Peter Cottontail together. I know, I know. I should’ve been reading the ‘Bible to him instead. But I figured we’d have time for that, later. Who knew. No regrets though, we loved ‘Peter Cottontail too.
When Tommy passed in January of 1986, a rock we found on the beach…marked his grave. There was no headstone yet. The Funeral Director told me it could take months before the “Marker” would arrive. Knowing I’d be visiting EVERYDAY, the rock was my way to find him. The cemetery was ginormous, and the grass in Florida grew extremely fast.
Weeks went by, though my hopes were always there – wondering “Has it arrived yet?” Why that was important to me…don’t know now. Maybe it was because I wanted a spot there – that we could call “ours.”
Easter came. Decided to put together a little basket for him. Parked my car and began my usual walk, passing the other graves with my focus on one. “There it was!!” The headstone. Was so excited, I fumbled and RAN the rest of the way there. The beach rock was on top. Took the rock and placed it in my purse. Plopped my butt down with the basket, grabbed our book ‘Peter Cottontail and shared a few jelly beans with him…in “our” spot.