My Journey Back To You

Dear Leo,

Today is Easter. A time for celebration and commemorating the resurrection of Jesus Christ. Here in Italy, Easter is called Pasqua, and Italians live for Pasqua. The week of Pasqua is celebrated with processions, masses, and family gatherings. Today marks the fourth major holiday spent away from you. As I walked the streets of my Italian city, I was struck by the stillness. It seemed as though the entire country was away celebrating with their families and attending mass. The once busy city center seemed deserted, and the sound of church bells filled the eerie silence. I imagined all those happy Italian families attending mass and going home to tables filled with roasted lamb and Easter Eggs. I tried to fill the suffocating sound of silence with a tender daydream of an Easter spent with you. Maybe I’d introduce you to all the American Easter traditions that held such a fond place in my childhood memories. I’d fill colorful plastic eggs with an assortment of candies and strategically hide them all over our backyard. I would then watch with glee as I assisted you on your hunt for each egg. We would collect them in a wicker basket and munch on our found treasure trove of sweets. Maybe we would dress up as the Easter Bunny and make messy finger paintings. We’d soak up the fresh spring breeze and have a picnic in the local park. My mom and I would cook a delicious meal, and I’d laugh as you turned your nose up at most of the feast. You’d devour your chocolate bunny, and I’d wipe the chocolate smudges off your dimpled cheeks.

My cheerful fantasies of our Easter celebration were rudely interrupted by the cruelty of my reality. Somewhere in another part of town, you were celebrating Easter with another family. Their traditions were Christian Orthodox traditions, which starkly contrasted with the secular easter experience so familiar to me. Maybe you were enjoying cake or attending mass. Maybe hordes of distant relatives were passing you around the dinner table and enjoying your sweet company. Maybe the priest was blessing you with Holy Water as your father bent his head in quiet prayer.

All I know is that you’re not with me, and your absence makes the city seem void of life and joy. All the windows lit by the sight of cheerful families appear to me as distant films, played in a cinema world’s away from me. I won’t ever give up on my Easter Fantasy. I won’t stop fighting until that fantasy of chocolate bunnies and plastic eggs becomes as real as those distant films. I’ll never give up on those precious moments. I’ll never relinquish the sound of your laugh while you open Christmas presents. I’ll keep chasing your expression, so filled with awe as you gaze upon New Year’s Eve fireworks for the first time. I’ll cling to the hope of watching you take your first swim in the ocean without floaties.

The hope of reuniting with you is worth every lonely holiday. Every missed memory.