The bitter and the sweet

We have spent this rainy, cold Easter weekend at the beach in North Carolina with the family. Half way in between Virginia and Georgia, it has been the perfect escape for our first Easter after Momma's passing. The weekend has flown by - I am shocked this is our last night away - yet at the same time each moment with her missing has seemed to tick by at a painfully slow pace.

In this year of "first afters," I think we have all been holding our breath for the first Easter to be done. It has been a bittersweet weekend. The bitter clear and obvious; the sweet continues to surprise us at unexpected moments.

There is sweetness in the way the cousins adore one another. B can't stop following around her "big" cousins and longs to do everything they do. They, despite being older and more able, are gentle and patient with her. They love on her and help her. There is sweetness in every interaction.

There is sweetness in being with my precious sister and falling back into our familiar roles as besties and birth order and partners in crime. There is sweetness in seeing our husbands love our kids and adore their nieces and nephew.

There is sweetness in our precious Papa and Daddy, who, despite his overwhelming grief, is setting up Easter egg hunts and Star War toys, reading books, and letting one or two or sometimes even three grandkids climb into his lap at dinner.

As Christians, our grief seems to mimic this bittersweet back and forth. This weekend, of all weekends, that seems more evident. It is because of the cross and the sacrifice at Calvary that we have hope and that our bad days are made bearable. Momma always said she wanted her funeral not to be one of sadness or despair but a homecoming - a sweet celebration of a life well lived and of an eternal reward beyond our earthly comprehension. The night of Momma's passing, a good friend shared the most applicable Bible verse for the moment:
"His master replied, 'Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master's happiness!'" - Matthew 25:23

I believe with every ounce of my being that she is in Heaven. That she is with our Lord and Savior, rejoicing in paradise. She is with those she has lost - including her own dear mom. And yes, even the legendary Coal Dog is there, resting his giant head in her lap. How sweet it must be. And how sweet to know we will be reunited one day.

But despite the promises of reunion, despite the all encompassing, overwhelming sweetest gift of all, there is still bitter in her absence. There is a mortal bitterness in empty chairs at dinner tables. In family pictures made smaller literally by one person but that feel infinitely smaller. There is bitterness simply in the absence of the one we love. Not a harsh, antagonistic bitterness - just the bitterness of great grief.

And so the days march on. Some more bitter than sweet. Some more sweet than bitter. In the end, because of tomorrow, because of Easter and all that it means, we know it will be sweet. It will end in a glory we cannot fathom, a glory sweeter than anything we have ever known.

Because He lives, I can face tomorrow,
Because He lives, all fear is gone;
Because I know He holds the future,
And life is worth the living,
Just because He lives!

How sweet it is. How sweet it is.