Easter makes me feel safe. I have good memories of it from my childhood. I'm struggling to make sense of things right now; trying to understand things. Come to terms with things. When nothing makes sense and things only grow more confusing, I find security in the small amount of Easter decorations I have. Those and the memories. Memories of a different time, a different place. Easter, to me, means innocence. I know the true meaning of Easter. Please don't think I am not acknowledging that, but I don't want to make this a religious post. I'd rather keep it reflective, if that's okay.
I loved when my mother dressed me up in frilly, fancy dresses and shoes that she wouldn't let me put on until the last minute. I was one of those kids who, when I got all ready to go, I'd run out into the yard and hit a mud pile head on. Or I'd try to climb a fence and get a cut and bleed all over the place. That happened, the fence, not the mud, at least once, when I was all dressed up and ready to go, and it was a mess, let me tell you. Mom yelling and wiping me down. My brother laughing from his bedroom. Me crying because I was in pain and bled all over a pretty, lacy dress.
