Mom was known for talking for hours. I always called to wish her a happy Easter right before mass. It was the only way to have a quick conversation because she would not miss church on Easter Sunday.

Three years ago today, on April 9, 2020, our granddaughter Penelope Jude was born. I wasn’t allowed to be in the hospital to see her nor allowed to visit you. I called you with the good news: Hang in there Mike. When you get home we can sit outside and see Mary with her new family. Little did I know what was about to happen in five days.

Everyone now knows and identifies my mom not only by her name but by the tiara and sash that was a must on her big day … her birthday. Through her story that I’ve shared for almost three years, people now know she had a strong faith and shared it with everyone she came into contact with. I lived it and saw it for myself–she planted the seed in my siblings and me at a young age.

We grew up in a strict Christian household. This year, her big day falls on a special day, a holy day, and it’s bittersweet. As our family gathers as we do every year on Easter to eat, hunt eggs, and most importantly celebrate the resurrection of Christ, there will still be a void. I won’t be buying a tiara and sash for my mom to wear on the big day. I won’t see her at the table eating with us and smiling as the kids hunt eggs in the front yard.

I’m starting to feel the last birthday, Mother’s Day, and the anniversary of my mom’s passing creeping up. I’m bracing for it. I try to keep busy, but my body feels it. I’ve thought about how to celebrate her on this special holy day. Our family will already be together for Easter, so we will celebrate mom and Christ on the same day. Yellow napkins and flowers to decorate the table. We will all write little notes to Heaven and tie them to a yellow heart balloon. The hardest part is letting go.

Mom, I hope you enjoy reading every little love note we send you when we release our balloons on your birthday …

Our German grandmother always lived with my brother and I. Weeks before Easter, she would blow out the contents of many eggs and dry them out to get them ready to paint. My brother and I loved painting the eggs so colorfully and then tying them to bushes with ribbons in our backyard. We had a lot of help doing this and we got more paint on our clothes than on the eggs. Many times small branches were put in a vase indoors with painted eggs tied with ribbons. Our parents helped with this annual Easter family event. The colorful eggs were so festive and represented new life.

It is so sad and painful that Johnny died of Covid on the eve of Easter.

On April 7, 2020, my older brother, Wilmard went into the hospital. It was during Easter Week. He was intubated approximately 15 hours after being admitted. He sent a video from his hospital room. He had an oxygen mask on, but he told us that there was fluid in his lungs. He said, “this is not good.” That was the last verbal communication we had with him.

The rest of the communication was via texts. Our family felt helpless because we couldn’t be there for him. It was Easter Week and we prayed hard, hoping for a miracle. I remember texting him every day although I knew he couldn’t answer. But I hoped his phone was near enough for him to feel our love and prayers. I played the song, “The Blessing” when I couldn’t pray anymore. I prayed novenas and tried to stay as positive as I could. Wouldn’t a miracle during Easter Week bring our brother back?

Three years later and the memories and the pain come gushing back like a tidal wave. It sweeps us under the current and we have to push ourselves up with all of our being to get above water. It is exhausting. But how exhausting must it have been for my dear brother who fought so hard but didn’t get above the water.

I am still so sad and angry at the same time. How I wish we could have been there for him and helped him push through. How I wish we could’ve held his hand, prayed with and for him and given him that extra push so he could survive this. He was always there for us. He loved us. He advised us. He guided us. He prayed for us. He encouraged us. And, in the end, COVID ripped away any chance we had to be there for him. We were left with so many emotions and yet those emotions don’t amount to what he had to endure.

I pray my brother saw the eyes of the Lord when he passed three days after Easter Sunday on April 15, 2020 alone in a New York hospital. I pray our Dear Lord welcomed him with open arms right alongside our parents. I pray my brother is at peace because I’m still trying to find it. My prayers are with all who lost loved ones to this horrible virus. May God bless each and everyone. And to my dear brother in heaven, I love and miss you with all my heart. Please watch over your children, grandchildren, your wife, siblings and the rest of our family.

Happy Easter, from your sis.