Another Widowed Pascha

and Rituals

Every good marriage has great love stories.

My wife and I started dating in January 2001. We just couldn’t stay apart, even when things weren’t perfect. Our hangouts got longer and longer.

One of my favorite memories is from Pascha of 2001. I had only spent a handful of Paschas away from my family, once on a high school choir trips, and then when I was in seminary. I marked the holiday with my family, but I left early, because Tresja and I had plans.

2001 was our first Pascha together, 2002 was our first Pascha as a married couple. Tresja was in Haiti for a disaster response in 2011 for Pascha, and I missed her greatly. 2021 was our last Pascha together.

We were both familiar with the Eastern European tradition of preparing a basket filled with goodies. We even filled the basket during the COVID Pascha of 2020. No, we couldn’t go to church, but we sang all of the services together at home, and made the best of being shut-in. That experience actually brought us closer together.

Tresja had perfected the art of baking her family’s cheese bread and we filled the basket with all of our favorite goodies. I colored the eggs and cut the meat, and I usually roasted some beef as well.

Tresja was meticulous about the basket arrangement and would often take everything out and rearrange it so it looked nice.

Her sudden death in August 2021 put an end to many things. I couldn’t get myself to make a basket, though I certainly went to church and made a meal for my kid and me. I thought the tradition was simply one of those I had to release.

I’m not sure why, but late last week, I felt a yearning to make a basket. I wasn’t sure how to go about it, especially since I couldn’t remember where I had stored the embroidered cloth to cover it.

I made the basket, hastily filled it with the few goodies I had prepared and purchased, and added it to the long line of baskets people brought to church for the holiday.

What does this mean?

Making the basket did not eliminate the feeling of emptiness I have in my guts when I remember Tresja.

The fifth anniversary of her death is approaching. This is a chunk of time, and my memories of her are not as fresh and sharp as they were in the first three years. Love endures after death. Even writing these words makes my chest feel heavy.

But something has changed. Last week, I felt some mild excitement about the coming holiday.

No, it was not a restoration of what once was, but it was authentic.

A feeling of contentment.

A sense of gratitude for the people I have and the life I live today.

My yearning for Tresja remains alive and well. I am comforted by the knowledge that our reunion comes closer with each passing second.

Now there is a new joy, one of assurance that all is and shall be well.

How else can it be, with the promise that Jesus Christ’s resurrection is a gift of new, embodied, eternal life to all of those who continue on in this world?