Hristos a înviat!

After a car accident and two months of staying in bed, Rada started walking again. She still needs help and I am more than pleased to be able to be useful. Therefore, I was prepared for a nice night of the Resurrection and for a quite, but special, Easter.

Because we couldn’t go to church as we wanted, we watched the Easter service on TV.

I think I’m more sensitive now, after the recent events in my life. On TV, we saw a live transmission of the Easter service from a small village in the south of Romania. The whole village is under waters, after the flooding. The church is also under waters, as well as the cemetery, with the graves of all the ancestors of the villagers. These people live now in tents, 2 kilometers away from the village. Mothers, fathers and parents were crying during the service.

Another live transmission was from Cluj, from the cathedral. This is probably the place where we would have attended the service if we could. Seeing this gave me a strange feeling.

After midnight I called my mother, for the traditional “Hristos a înviat!”. From the start, I found it sad to talk with my family on the phone, while this is my first Easter away (even though I left my parents’ place 8 years ago). The feeling of growing up is overwhelming. My family is 9 hours away on Easter. Still, my family is here with me, Rada being the most precious thing of my life.

My mother asked me the simple “what’s up?”. “Watching the Easter service and having a late dinner”. “We’re at the church. What did you cook?”. “Appetizer, boeuf salad, stake, Easter eggs.”

A simple dialog, but I swear I could sense in my mother’s voice a lot more than the words coming out of her mouth. First, there was the sadness. The sadness of not having me there, of Rada’s accident, of Rada’s pain, of my efforts. The sadness of a mother who talks with her son on the phone on the Easter day. And she hasn’t seen him for the last 7 months.

Than there was the pride. The pride of having a son who’s now strong enough to have a normal Easter at his place, as he would have a house and a family. The pride of having a son who cooks and takes care of a house even tough he was the laziest kid when he was little. The pride of having a son who didn’t forget what he was taught long ago, that God is there for you and you need to be there for God as well. The pride of having a son who, if he can’t go to church, watches the Easter service on TV.

And then there was the faith. The faith in a God that takes care of everything. Who protects her son’s girlfriend in a deadly accident. Who gives her son the strength of moving on and carrying whatever burdens on his shoulders. The faith in a God who gave her son a magic girlfriend.

“We’ll drink a glass of wine for you tomorrow”, my mother said. “We will drink one for you”, I replied.

The shiver in my mother’s voice are the most demanding of all orders on Earth. The most oppressive of all sentences. The warmest of all appreciations. To make my mother happy, to keep her proud and faithful, I have to do whatever it takes for Rada to be healthy again, I have to cook, to keep the house clean, to be strong, to have normal Easters, to carry whatever burdens on my shoulders, to remember what I was taught long ago, to believe in God and act like it.

Tonight, right before my most personal Easter, I shed a tear.

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