Easter is Supposed to be About Hope

Easter is supposed to be about hope. About new life. About believing something good is still coming.

I sat in church today and listened to the message—about renewal, about resurrection, about life.

And I wanted to feel it.

But my mind kept going back to the same place.

To who wasn’t sitting next to me.

I looked around and saw families together—people dressed up, smiling, talking about what they were doing after, making plans for the rest of the day.

And there I was, sitting in the middle of it, missing them.

Easter doesn’t change that.
It doesn’t give me one more conversation or one more moment.

The day still comes. The traditions are still there.

But it feels different now.

Grief doesn’t step aside just because it’s a holiday.
It shows up right in the middle of it.

And I sat there for a while just letting that be what it was.
Not trying to fix it. Not trying to make the day feel different than it did.

Just sitting with the fact that this is what Easter looks like for me now.

And somewhere in all of that…

I kept coming back to them.

Not just that they’re gone—
but everything we had.

The way they showed up in my life.
The way they loved me.

That part didn’t disappear.

It’s still with me, even now, even on days like this.

Easter may never feel the way it once did.

But the love is still here.

And maybe today isn’t about forcing joy or pretending this doesn’t hurt.

Maybe it’s just about showing up as we are—
missing them, loving them, and making it through the day.

And maybe that, in its own way, is where hope lives now.