Easter Morning Reflections: Between the Long Run and an Egg Hunt.

After a bit of a dry spell, I’ve been trying to return to writing—one small exercise at a time.
This is what came out of today.

It’s Easter Sunday today, and before getting ready for my usual ritual of starting the day with a long run, my motherly duties had an extra task. I hid chocolates around the house before my young adult girls woke up.

I got ready for my run. It was raining. I pushed my start time by an hour, hoping it would stop. My app said it would. But it didn’t.

The goal was simply time on my feet. No pace goals. The most important goal: don’t get injured.

As I laced up my shoes in the garage, I could hear the rain. I started my watch and went.

As I lost myself in my thoughts, I felt the rain on my face. My coat grew heavier, my pants soaked through. I was completely in the moment—at peace, in a good place. I like running in the rain, and I found myself wondering why I had hoped it would stop. The weather could not have been more perfect.

After a long stretch of injury, I’m working my way back to longer runs and to the art of getting lost in my thoughts while my shoes meet streets I would never cross if it weren’t for this beautiful, meditative sport.

I came home to find two precious young ladies waiting for me in my bed. Sleep still on their faces, mixed with a quiet excitement for the Easter egg hunt.

This tradition brings us down a familiar memory lane—family rituals and joyful moments stored somewhere safe, ready to be pulled out on cloudy days. We are never too old for traditions.

If I may add one more moment, it would be from last night.

Something unsettled the girls. The messages and calls kept coming—disorganized, insistent—at a time when they were both out, just trying to be young and present in their own lives.

I was driving Gloria home when Naomie called, shaken. Glo and I both told her to turn off her phone and to promise us that she would have a fun evening with her friends. To not let anything pull her out of it.

We told her we loved her and hung up.

She texted back: I love you guys.

For my introverted girl, those few words carried weight.

In that moment, I felt it—how the three of us are forever connected. I love it when they show affection for each other. A mother couldn’t ask for more.

I don’t have control over everything that surrounds them. But I do know this: they are not alone in it.


And if I could wish for something more, it would be for things to soften—for everyone involved, in time.