The emptiness that has surrounded our family since your death was well pronounced and resonated through the house this weekend. We had our "traditional" Good Friday family dinner last night and it just wasn't the same. It wasn't like everyone was sitting around crying or moping but you definitely became the white elephant in the room. It was like no one wanted to say anything about the empty chair or the lack of your voice in the conversation. I guess, for me, it was in the back of my head all week and all day Friday, but it really came to the forefront of my thoughts when, in routine of things, I asked myself out loud, how many plates we needed. It was in that moment, the moment that I reached for some ceramic dishes that I felt depleted and incomplete.
I made a desert that I found on a blog that I follow called "Resurrection Rolls" that are nothing more than a marshmallow rolled in cinnamon and wrapped in a crescent roll. In the blog, though, it says that the marshmallows are supposed to represent Jesus's body being wrapped in garments (cinnamon) and readied for the tomb (crescent roll). Of course, being our family, we found this to be the highlight of our evening and quickly dubbed the delicious desert "The Body of Christ" (you really have to know our family to understand why we are so twisted). In the middle of one of the many puns about the "Body of Christ" someone (perhaps mom) asked, "Can you imagine what Chelsea would say about these". I instantly replied, in a horrible voice animation of you, that you would say something along the lines of, "Holly, that is so inappropriate for you to wrap Jesus's body up and bake it at 350 degrees for 10-12 minutes", or something like, "I felt moved to eat three, the Holy Spirit willed me to."
We held the 1st Annual Resurrection Road Run 5K today and it was a great success. I kept having this flashback moment of a text conversation we had about the potential name of this event. I had told you that we were having trouble finding a good, solid, catchy name for the 5K and you told me that you would think it over, even though I didn't actually ask for your input. You gave it anyway. I found that text today:
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It still almost brought me to tears laughing at this when I read it today. I also thought about how you would have, most likely, "run" in it but probably would have complained about the color of the shirts or the fact that it was so early or said that some kid cheated you out of a first place prize and again felt the heaviness of the moment.
We so miss your voice, your presence, and your argumentative spirit at the table. There is no one there to help me make fun of mom (well, not like the way we could) when she does something completely ridiculous, or ask one million times when dinner is going to be ready, or argue some insignificant point with at dinner. The dining room, once a warm, welcoming place to celebrate family, has now become a much smaller room without the sound of your voice and the resonance of your laughter.
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