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Quote of the Day: The Last “First”
A few months ago, on Easter Sunday 2021, I wrote a Ricochet post called “First Easter,” in which I reflected on the fact that, following the death of a loved one, there’s an inevitable year, 365 days, of “firsts.” It begins thus:
I learned, many years ago, that when a loved one dies, the twelve months following is a year of “firsts.” My first birthday without at least a phone call from Dad. The first Christmas without one of Michael’s slightly off-color cards (which he loved so much, and at whose awful jokes and our pained expressions, he laughed with such glee). The first Mother’s Day without lunch or dinner at Eat ‘n Park, an establishment so beloved by Mr. She’s mother that she’d eschew a meal at the finest restaurant within a hundred miles for their meatloaf and mashed potatoes, washed down with a root beer float. The first winter without my own mother’s frequent and apocalyptic predictions of weather catastrophe. The first 4th of July without Sam in charge of the pyrotechnics, every year putting on a fireworks show for the ages.
And this year, my first Easter in over forty years (gosh, that’s a long time) without Mr. She at my side.
