Easter

Today is Easter, but that means nothing to me anymore. I grew up. I lost the faith. And everyone who cared about keeping up the traditions associated with the day -- religious or secular -- has died. This year there were no eggs to color, no baskets to pack with plastic grass and chocolate bunnies, no new coats or dresses or shoes to wear, and no ham dinner to sit down to with relatives.

It is the nature of paradise that it is always eventually lost. Time rips it from our grasp like centrifugal force pulls material objects from our hands and arms. The merry-go-round spins madly out of control and all we hold dear -- or should hold dear -- ends up broken on the ground. Buildings collapse; people disappear; and the rituals and rites that life was built upon when we were young are abandoned or forgotten.

Special has gone the way of the dinosaur, I'm afraid. Its white bones have been picked clean by the ravenous years and its spirit swallowed up by reason and chance. What has been lost will never be found. Memories of family and faith, black and white photos of isolated moments, are all that remain. I can't go home again, but the thought of home will haunt me for the rest of my days.