Written by Carter

Introduction: I wrote this on 16 April 2023…over a year ago. I’m posting it now in preparation for an upcoming post about something that happened in March 2024: we traveled to Fiji with our living children! The lows of April 2023 helped motivate me to plan that trip to Fiji! Here goes…

I love Easter. I love remembering the life, mission, teachings, example, ministry, atonement and resurrection of my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. I said to Faye, “The Living Christ is music to my ears and to my heart.” These truths are all such beautiful, rich, peace-giving and hope-giving concepts. I believe them with all my heart.

But, for the past nine years, Easter is also hard for me. Several years ago, one of our Church leaders gave a sermon entitled, “Sunday Will Come.” It refers to the abject grief and despair that Jesus’ disciples felt when He was crucified on that Friday. Only later did they understand what Jesus was trying to teach them: that it was necessary for Him to die so that He could overcome death and sin. After three days, He rose again with a resurrected body of flesh and bones. He chose to retain the marks of the nails in His hands and feet and the spear laceration in His side. Sunday did come. Even among our darkest hours, days, weeks, months, and years of our lives, the metaphorical “Sunday” will come. Christ has overcome the world. Through Him, we can, too.

But Easter is also hard for me. It reminds me that I am separated from Ashton, who has preceded me in death. He was supposed to help bury me. It’s not the natural sequence for a father to bury his son. Even nine years later — Easter is still hard. I am grateful to celebrate Easter, but I told Faye that I’m also grateful that “Monday will come” (the day after Easter). I can leave behind for another year the stark reminder that I am separated from one of my children…until the end of my mortal life. I guess that is the “paradox of hope”: in order to have something to look forward to, one must have present circumstances that are less-than-ideal.

I thought of grief as it might be compared with the onset of spring. Some spring days are cold or windy or rainy…or any combination of miserable elements that make me think that winter isn’t done with me yet. Then there will be a glorious day when the sun is shining, the sky is clear and the breezes are gentle. What makes those days so beautiful? I think part of it is the contrast between that day and the previous, miserable ones. I also remind myself to enjoy that beautiful day because I know that, in a few weeks, it will be miserably hot in southern Arizona.

I recently saw a patient whose parent died from suicide. I offered my condolences and told them about the suicide loss survivor support group in Tucson and about the Long-Term Suicide Survivors Summit…and how that helped us. This patient is Christian and we talked about Easter and the hope it brings. As I was driving home at the end of the day, I realized that I was really tired. After dinner, I read for awhile, then went to bed early. I was surprised at how tired I was; I didn’t feel “down” when I was talking to the patient…but it must have taken more out of me than I realized. I discussed this experience with Faye and verbalized the option that I could have chosen to not say anything to this patient about their parent’s suicide. But did God allow our paths to cross so I could say something that day? Few doctors would understand better than me what this patient might be feeling. As hard as it was, I’m glad I said something. I hope it was useful. I don’t know if this will get easier for me with time and repetition…but I hope to continue to “lean into” these opportunities to help others who are suffering.

I thought about posting this last Sunday (on Easter)…but it was too much, too heavy right then. I had to let these ideas and feelings sit for a week so I could have the strength to express them. I hope they are helpful for someone out there. It has been helpful for me to write them.