Cripple Creek Traveler: The Night before Easter

I wrote this piece in 1964. It conveys a bit of what memories of Easter mean to me.

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The Night before Easter

Although it is only 10:30, the house is quiet now. We have to be up early tomorrow for the Sunrise Service, and Papa still has to finish up preparation for the morning service. Mama is lying quietly beside him, listening sleepily to his occasional comments; she will soon be asleep. Debbi is already asleep; she had a busy day cleaning the house and is tired. I’m tired too, but I’m not quite ready to sleep.

As I lie here writing, I am remembering many of the Easters I have spent in parsonages. There always was a happy air about the house. Gramma and Grampa were usually here. Gramma would spend the evening finishing our new Easter dresses, while Grampa helped Debbi and me to decorate eggs. Sometime during the evening we would all go over to the church and add the finishing touches to arranging the flowers.

As soon as the dresses and eggs were done, Debbi and I would be sent to bed; Papa would go to the study to finish his sermon notes. Mama, Gramm, and Grampa would talk quietly while folding the bulletins in the dining room.

This year Gramma and Grampa didn’t feel up to coming to Pittsburgh, so we’re going to their house after church tomorrow. Debbi and I are now too old for Easter bunnies and colored eggs; our Easter suits were purchased at a local dress store.

Even though Gramma and Grampa aren’t here, even though we aren’t coloring eggs, and florist decorated the church early this morning, there is still a happy, gay air to the house, but this year it is a mature air. This year we are happy with a spiritual fervor; we aren’t waiting for an Easter bunny, but for an Easter savior. This Easter marks the beginning of new grown-up traditions.

I’m ready to go to bed now. I know that Papa will be awake for quite awhile yet. As I fall asleep tonight, a mysterious feeling of anticipation creeps over me, and I roll over hoping that the beautiful, new morning will come quickly, for tonight is the night before Easter.

Note: I wrote this piece the night before Easter 1964. In the fall of 1964, Grampa Starr was hospitalized with blood clots; and the following spring, he died of a major stroke just before Easter. I had no idea how much Easter was changing for us.