My Last Bunny

Here I am, age eleven with my very last Easter Bunny. This is not because I stopped believing in the Easter Bunny, but rather because of grief. The original Easter Bunny that year was met with a terrible fate--a drowning incident involving a stream in the woods behind our house in Connecticut. Sadly, she was dipped into the swirling waters of that stream, and soon swept away. Gone forever.

That was a sad Easter.

To make up for the trauma of losing my bunny to her watery grave, my mother bought a new bunny for me--a bigger and better bunny! But, truth is, this new bunny was a poor salve for my grief. Every time, I looked into my replacement bunny's eyes, I thought--you are not my bunny! You are not my wife! You are not my beautiful house!

(Okay, maybe that's going a little too far. The point is, the new bunny was a pale imitation of my lost bunny!)

Bereft, I proceeded to rail against the commercialism of the holiday. Don't give me any bunnies! Don't give me any marshmallow chicks! No more jelly beans hiding in fake grass in my Easter basket. Forget it! I'm done with Easter!

I felt a kind of death. Certainly, I felt the loss of my childhood self.

Creative Friends--we will stumble. We will fall. We will come face to face with the knowledge that our lives are one big long series of devastating losses, followed by the slow, re-emergence of joy and light, new beginnings and profound transformations.

Knowing this, go forth bravely—reborn into the endless mysteries, the sublime and amazing possibilities, always birthing yourself—again and again--into this miraculous world of ours.

Have a Happy Easter.

Love,

Jamie