Easter Sunday in Heaven

If ever there was a time to be eloquent, it is now. But, as is usual, I find myself at a loss to extract the words that will adequately sum up the maelstrom that swirls relentlessly in my head.

Forgive me then, for dropping words and phrases on the page like splots of paint on a canvas. Collectively, it might make sense. It might not.

Jack, Phoebe and Maisie were awake and chirruping at 5.45am. Despite the Easter Bunny leaving carrot tops all over the lounge room floor, it was a squealingly-good morning for my three. They weren't sure if Mummy had temporarily lost her marbles, and they didn't care - for the first time in their short lives, they were given carte blanche to eat Easter eggs for breakfast. Game on, dudes. (Funnily enough, they asked for an apple each not long after...so madness did not take over completely.)

After our relatively traditional start to Easter Sunday, we then headed towards a more unconventionally religious day. I shall explain. We took our three little Easter bunnies on a road trip early this morning, because there were some friends of ours who needed us.

Although we had intended on making this trip for some time, last-minute bumps in the road changed the course of our plans. And although this day most certainly did not end up the way we had originally intended it to, I think in some ways we still achieved the most important thing. I think that maybe, just maybe, we turned the ashes of a dream into something lovely today.

And no, I didn't go to church. That's not unusual.

But it was a holy day, for me anyway. A day which began in black and white, and gradually turned technicolour at the edges, until the rainbowy bits dominated the picture.

No hymns were sung. No holy water was anointed.

No prayers were mumbled. No wafers were placed carefully on tongues.

No ashes were scattered.

But.

Sunshine was basked in.

Grass was played upon.

Breezes were inhaled, deeply and gratefully.

Dogs ran joyfully, chasing everything and nothing.

Sausages were cooked on a smoky open fire, in a garden overlooking a magnificent valley.

A teapot sat with its' woollen cosy, brewing cups of tea enjoyed next to the smoky flames.

Six pairs of little feet thundered around the garden and surrounding paddocks.

Stones were collected; chocolate eggs shared; teddies tucked in; kites were flown.

A game of hide and seek included everyone, even the grown-ups.

Kangaroos (or 'amaroos'), wombats and koalas were spied in their natural habitat, bringing disbelieving joy to my children's faces.

And hopefully, a very beautiful friend of mine saw the family that she and her husband made, playing with my little family, and felt the love winding around her.

Today I saw the celebration of life all around me, in a church with a roof made of sky and sun, and a floor made of rocks and grass.

If ever there was a way to remember a life, and to commemorate a day, this was it.