Easter Sunday always meets me in a tender place.

It’s the place where grief and hope sit side by side… not competing, just existing together. The empty tomb reminds me that loss is never the end of the story, but it doesn’t erase the ache of missing you.

There are days when I still reach for my dad’s voice.
Days when I want to laugh with Miriam the way only sisters can.
Days when Joe’s absence feels louder than anything else in the room.

And in those moments, I hear echoes of I’ll Be Missing You by Puff Daddy playing softly in the background of my heart—
“Every step I take, every move I make…”
Grief has a rhythm. It shows up in ordinary moments. In quiet mornings. In milestones, they should be here for.

But Easter interrupts that rhythm.

Not by silencing grief, but by redeeming it.

Because the resurrection of Jesus Christ tells me something, my feelings can’t always hold on to:
This separation is temporary.

• Death is real, but it is not final.
• Grief is heavy, but it is not hopeless.
• Love doesn’t end; it transforms.

I don’t just wish I’ll see them again.
I know it.

That confidence isn’t rooted in my strength. It’s rooted in the empty tomb.

The same power that raised Jesus from the dead is the same promise that holds my dad, Miriam, and Joe in eternal life. And one day, it will call all of us home.

So today, I let myself feel both:

• The tears that come from missing them
• The peace that comes from knowing where they are

Easter gives me permission to do both.

To grieve… and still believe.
To remember… and still rejoice.
To whisper “I miss you”… and still declare “I’ll see you again.”

And maybe that’s what resurrection looks like in real life.

Not just a miracle that happened once, but a promise we carry, especially on the days when love feels like loss.

Today, I’m holding onto that promise.

He is risen.
And because He lives… love lives on too.