It's Not about the eggs

Several years back, darling daughter had a friend visiting over

the Easter weekend. Dearest son had already
moved on to college so it was just the girls and me.

One of the Easter traditions I began pre-teen
years, in order to reduce the amount of
sugar overload in the baskets, was an Easter Egg hunt
in the back yard.
Since the kids were long passed wanting to dye the eggs,
I had resorted to the plastic kind with the twist of filling them
with coins from the "change tin".

Although the girls were not expecting it, and would have preferred
to sleep in after a very late night before, I rousted them out
and shoved them into the yard for "the Hunt".

I was sure that the thrill of competition would take over and
soon these girls "much too old" for an Easter Egg hunt were running
and giggling all over the yard looking for a glimpse of the
yellow, pink, green and blue eggs.


Once all the eggs had been discovered each girl twisted
open the eggs and began to pile their loot onto the
porch table to count. Every year,
including this one, a surprising turn of events. No matter
how uneven each egg's number and value of coins; no matter
the disparity among number of eggs collected by each hunter:
the amount of coins always, every year, would be
within one dollar's difference of each hunter.

Darling daughter who was to be home in a month, has been
accepted into Tisch, the film school of NYU. Although we are thrilled,
this requires her to stay on for a class in summer school,
and delays her arrival home. Dearest son, residing far away
in Oregon may not be here for a visit as soon as I anticipated.

I miss my children every day, every hour, but the Holidays seem
to deepen the intensity for the longing I feel to wrap
them in my arms and hold tight. Will we ever do another hunt?
Will I repeat this with grandchildren some day? If I am long since gone,
will they repeat it with their children on their own?

Easter- it's not about the eggs.