I was going to write something else for Easter. I was going to tell you a few stories from around the U.S.
Like the church ladies who once hid 700 Easter eggs for a community church in Texas, and accidentally forgot to fill them with candy. If you can just imagine.
Then I was going to close by reminding everyone to fill their eggs with candy before they hide them.
But something happened to me. During my research for this column I fell into a wormhole. I came across more Easter stories than I could shake a bunny at. Which led to more stories. And more stories.
As of now, I have been reading for several hours and my eyes hurt.
Some of these stories were emails.
Like the email I got about a Connecticut woman who, for Good Friday, read an Easter story to her grandkids via video phone call. Quarantine style. The old woman did it cheerfully, even though she is in hospice care. Her hospice nurse held the phone.
an email about a 25-year-old woman who got married last week. Her father did the wedding via the internet. The couple has no marriage certificate yet since they are quarantining. But the young woman said, “We don’t know what tomorrow will bring, we wanted to face this together.”
Or how about historic tales of Easter? Such as the Easter of 1918. Now there was a real doozy.
To start with, over in Europe, The War to End All Wars was raging. And the outbreak of the Spanish Flu was in full swing, worldwide.
I read handwritten letters from soldiers, writing to loved ones. I bawled like a baby.
MARCH 31, 1918—“I miss you, oh dearest, this day feels empty without you beside me. I saw a train that was like an iron steed, I wish I could have been aboard and moving homeward...”