Easter brunch at my house was a fiasco. My husband took his parents to Mass so he could help his dad walk into church without a wheelchair. His folks live a few hours away and he wanted to spend time with them. The kids and I met my mom for Mass at her church. All good. Who knows if this is the last time we'll spend Easter together.
The rest of the day made me long for the days when the kids were young and the only thing they expected from Easter was an egg hunt in the back yard. Now they asked if I had prepared mimosas. Really? No. I have orange juice, though. The two older girls had to leave early for work, and I thought brunch meant a spinach tart, and a quiche. "Why all the egg dishes? Where's the ham. The potatoes." It just went downhill. No joy. Just complaints at the table. The table wasn't set properly. The coffee didn't have the right amount of cream. The cookies were burnt. All I heard were strange noises coming from people I didn't recognize. The girls left for work. My son came in the kitchen and hugged me. REALLY hugged me. Thank you.
Later, I had dinner with my mom, husband, and son. Ham, potatoes, the Master's golf tournament. I noticed how quiet it was as I washed the dishes that night. So calm. Yesterday morning I had coffee at the kitchen table. I looked out at the green lawn. The beautiful blossoms on this gorgeous spring day. Shhhhh. Listen. It's quiet. Same thing happened this morning. Only this time I had my Tribune, coffee, burnt cookie. No radio. No sounds.
I think the finest lyrics ever written were in Simon & Garfunkel's, "Sounds of Silence." For me it's not the darkness, but the early morning that turns out to be, "my old friend." I'm so grateful for this time. I don't think there's really any silence for Blago. Noise everywhere. Clinking, yelling. Maybe for him it's the darkness that brings calm. When he runs outside. When silence does come, he'll realize that he had what was F-ing golden the whole time.
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