Two years ago, my father was in a rehab hospital in Tucson. He and my sister and I colored eggs on Easter Sunday afternoon. This shows our most excellent handiwork.
His eggs all feature written messages you can't really see in this picture: A cross with "He is Risen, Indeed." That kind of thing. The ones with smudges: mine. The beautiful graphic ones: my sister's.
I remember many moments like this during his last month--moments of sun and peace and contentment and creativity. They're the sunny side of awe; they balance the fear and sorrow and pain and long, long nights.
The following Thursday he went into a decline that culminated in his death on Sunday, April 15. Of course I'll always miss him, but I will always have that month of experiences with him, too. It's not enough, but it's what I have, and I'm grateful.
