Easter Sunday

This day feels terrible.

I should be celebrating!
Celebrating that He has risen,
that because He lived and because He died
we can face tomorrow.

But I woke up with a heaviness
I did not expect.

What did I expect?
This is just a day on the calendar,
a reminder to look up,
a promise that the story does not end here.

But as I fill two Easter baskets instead of three,
as I prepare a little bouquet for her grave,
the finality of her death seems stark and complete.

I think God will understand
if I sit quietly in the pew this morning

and just weep.