Another Easter…

Easter has always felt a little complicated to me.

In 2004, the day after Easter, we learned about my mom’s diagnosis. It was the last holiday we had before everything changed - before our lives turned completely upside down.

A year later, on Easter morning in 2005, I found out I was going to be a mom.

I wanted so badly to feel pure excitement, but I couldn’t. My own mom was just months away from dying, and I was deep in the exhaustion and heartbreak of caregiving. I knew she would never meet this baby, and that loss sat heavy on top of everything else. And why I took that test on Easter morning, knowing I’d have to spend the entire day with family pretending everything was fine, is beyond me.  

I wasn’t married, and I knew people would talk. Life already felt uncertain, and even my relationship with J was rocky at the time. Nothing about that moment felt simple or easy.

And yet, every year when Easter comes around - with all its brightness and promise of spring - I can’t help but remember those harder moments too. The grief and the fear are woven into the joy.

But over time, something shifted.

This morning, I saw the first sprouts of my mom’s peony plants - the ones my younger brother lovingly dug up and brought to my house last year. Watching something she cared for so deeply begin to grow again felt like a quiet reminder: even in the hardest seasons, something beautiful is still taking root.

And that’s the truth I carry with me.

That Easter morning, I was terrified staring at a positive pregnancy test. But today, I have a beautiful 20-year-old son. Yes, some people talked - but so many more showed up with love, reminding us again and again how cherished this baby would be. And they still do.

In many ways, having him saved me. In the middle of losing my mom - when everything felt like darkness and despair - I was also given something to hold onto. A piece of her legacy to carry forward. A reason to keep going.

There is something sacred about the pain we endure. It reflects the depth of what we’ve loved and lost - and it makes space for the love that is still to come.

Even now, it reminds me: beauty and heartbreak can exist side by side. And sometimes, one quietly grows out of the other.

Happy Easter, everyone!