“He brought them out of darkness and the shadow of death, and burst their bonds apart.” Psalm 107:14 [ESV]
We haven’t used the girls’ childhood Easter baskets since Sarah left. I asked Katelyn, Kristen and Sophie last year if they wanted to use them and they said they didn’t care. I chose to believe them and to use gift bags instead to spare my heart from the sting of having to create another option for Sarah’s basket. Saturday night as I was preparing Easter gift bags for them I went to the basement to get tissue paper, carefully counting out two sheets for each bag. When I got back upstairs to complete the bags, I realized I had eight sheets. I had once again subconsciously reverted to counting in multiples of four instead of only three. The realization brought with it a tidal wave of grief.
This is our second Easter without Sarah. 22 months without her. To be exact, Easter Sunday made 683 days. And yet my heart still struggles to fully grasp that she is not and will not be here.
As we walked into church Easter morning someone looked at us and kindly commented on the “beautiful ladies.” I was instantly transported back to every Easter before Sarah left, vividly remembering the joy of walking in and hearing all the sweet compliments about “all the Harmening ladies.” As we walked further we began seeing all of the families reunited and complete to celebrate and worship together. I didn’t even make it to the pew before the tears spilled out.
The atmosphere of worship was rightly celebratory, but in the midst of the celebration my spirit was groaning within me. I struggled the entire service to contain the tears, for the most part to no avail. At first I felt guilt for my inability to stifle the deep sorrow that was involuntarily bubbling out. I am inexpressibly grateful for and fervently cling to the tremendous Hope I have because of Easter Sunday. I wanted to joyfully celebrate it in those moments, but instead my spirit was longing for something more.
Christ arose and His resurrection and the fact that He lives are absolutely the source of my Hope, but it is not where my Hope is fixed. My Hope is fixed on what is yet to be because He lives, a beautiful dawning yet to come. My hope is fixed “fully on the grace that will be brought to [all who believe] at the revelation of Jesus Christ” (1 Pet 1:13). My Hope is fixed on His imminent return, on the day that “the sun of righteousness will rise with healing in its wings; and [we] will go forth and skip about like calves from the stall” (Mal 4:2). My spirit groans for the day when “God shall wipe away all tears from [our] eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away” (Rev 21:4).
Christ’s resurrection powerfully transforms this life through the Hope of the next. If we somehow view the resurrection only in terms of its impact on this present life apart from eternity we are missing the greatest blessing. “If in Christ we have hope in this life only, we are of all people most to be pitied” (1 Cor. 15:19). It is the eternal impact of the resurrection that we celebrate. Because Christ secured eternity for those who believe, we are able to say with Paul, “we do not lose heart, but though our outer man is decaying, yet our inner man is being renewed day by day. For momentary, light affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory far beyond all comparison, while we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen; for the things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are not seen are eternal” (2 Cor. 4:16-18)
Until Christ returns I will celebrate Easter in the shadow of death. For the remainder of this temporal life I will treasure memories of precious past Easters with our complete family, while simultaneously bearing the persisting painful sting of my child’s daily absence. Death was defeated at the resurrection but it has yet to be destroyed, “the last enemy to be destroyed is death” (1 Cor. 15:26). So each day and every Easter I will celebrate the resurrection morning of my Lord, but to an equal or greater degree I will groan with longing for the dawn yet to come “when this perishable will have put on the imperishable, and this mortal will have put on immortality, [and] then will come about the saying that is written, “DEATH IS SWALLOWED UP in victory” (1 Cor. 15:54).
Listening to Him 
This was year four for us, we both teared up during service. It’s not easier or harder with time, just different. But still, the missing remains. The shadow you speak of takes away the fullness. Hugs.
Thanks, Roger. I already relate to what you said about it “not being easier or harder with time, just different.” Thanks for sharing your experience. Hugs to you both as well. ❤
My daughter was killed on Good Friday 2018; I had no intentions on going to church or being in town. Our family had a little getaway for the weekend. No mention of Easter, no baskets…just us spending time with each other. I have good days with joy in my heart and as quickly as those come the realization of Ashley not being here strikes, I catch my breath and remind myself I will see her again.
Oh Cathy, I am so sorry. Those moments of raw realization are so hard. It seems so illogical that we can continue to be shocked by their absence when we are simultaneously aware of it at all times, but I’ve heard many others share the same experience. The Hope of eternity is the only Hope that will hold, so thankful we have that confident assurance that we will see them again! ❤
This Easter was 627 days for us without our daughter, Sara. Every single word resonated in a deep, deep place. 💔
I am so, so sorry you bear this weight as well. Thank you so much for sharing that it resonated with you. I am very reluctant to share my heart publicly these days. When I feel the Lord prompting I share, but I also plead with Him to allow me to know at least one person was impacted or encouraged by it. Thank you for sharing and being that answered prayer for me. ❤
As we also have four children (young adults) I very much relate to what you write. Even though it’s been five years I still find it difficult to only buy three Easter Eggs or three Advent Calendars. Re you fetching eight pieces of tissue paper: I’ve done things like that too. Last week I got home from work and there was THREE Easter Eggs sitting in the hallway for my kids from a close relative; this completely caught me off guard and I instinctively wondered why there wasn’t four, until I ‘remembered’. 😢
Praise God we do not grieve as those who have no hope. 1 Thessalonians 4: 13-18
I hung four mailboxes in our coat closet last year (after Sarah left) to put Scott’s and the other three girls’ mail in. My youngest rarely gets any mail, but did a few weeks ago. I was so confused when I went to put it in her box, knowing Scott’s was the top one, I counted down to the bottom and thought I must have forgotten to get her one. It felt like it took multiple minutes for me to realize, it may have been only seconds, but it caused me to struggle the rest of the day.
I’m so sorry you have those experiences as well, but glad that it confirms there is not something unusual wrong with me still having those painful experiences. Praising Him with you for our hope. ❤