Happy Easter!

We’ve always had a good time with Easter. Maybe it was the first flush of warm air and the promise of spring – but it would bring out dad’s playful side. He was a rascal, that one.

When we were younger, he’d hide the Easter baskets mom had prepared for my brother and I to find on Easter morning. But it could never be easy. They wouldn’t be resting behind a couch or simply covered by a blanket – you had to work for it. I remember one year, when I must have been about 4 or 5, when he hung it from the attic hatch – feet above my little girl sight lines. I wandered that house for hours as they all called out “hotter!” or “colder!” as I made my way from room to room, never thinking to look at what was overhead. Oh, I shed some frustrated tears that day. And dad, well – he’d sit back with that slightly sinister grin of his that was so endearing you couldn’t get mad at him. Because truthfully, the more he teased or seemingly picked on you – the more he loved you.

Easter last year was the last holiday we’d all spend together. We spent the morning gathered in our living room drinking mimosas and teasing mom. She’d given my brother and I nice gift bags with some candy and small presents, but gave dad his favorite peanut m&ms and some boat magazines in a Meijer’s plastic bag. You can’t bait that man with a joke or you’ll never live it down.

Finally, mom got up to make phone calls to wish other family well. Typically we had larger gatherings with everyone at Easter, but this year we resigned to a calmer affair. Dad was in great spirits, but struggling physically by then. She grabbed the phone and we could hear the tick of the buttons as she dialed, walking to the front of the house for a little privacy – when my brother’s phone started to vibrate on the couch. He looked down at it with a curious glint and shrugged his shoulders. Dad and I exchanged glances, tightening our lips to muffle the giggles we could feel swelling inside.

My brother answered his phone. “Hello?”

“Happy Easter!” You could hear my mother’s voice boom from the other room.

“Happy Easter,” my brother dead-panned.

“Where are you?” she asked.

“In the living room.”

A heavy pause followed as my mom’s mind was registering. “Oh.”

Click.

We were doubling over in our seats while mom walked back into the living room flushed. “I thought I was calling your uncle! Why did you answer?”

“I just thought it must have been important!”

I don’t think any one of us had laughed that hard in months. Maybe not since this whole mess started.

Dad could barely contain himself. You could always tell when he thought something was really funny. He’d laugh so hard that there was scarcely a sound. He’d put his hand to his forehead, as if to steady his breath, lightly spreading his fingers across his eyebrows. It is easily one of my favorite, last memories of us four together.

Since then, “Happy Easter!” has become a rallying cry of sorts. It brings levity to moments that are clouded by pain. And laughter is so absolutely important when you’re anchored by a million feelings at once. And laughter was so essential to who dad was.

A bit of a rascal, that one. Happy Easter.