Mewsings from Lowecat (aka Indianacat)

My rants, ravings, and overall 'mewsings' on life, the universe, and everything.

Sunday, March 31, 2013

Hoppy Easter?

Today is a very important day for Christians around the world.  It's Easter Sunday, the day we celebrate the Resurrection of Jesus Christ after his crucifixion. 

In our household, Easter was a very busy day.  A minister's household is generally busy on Sunday, but Easter Sunday more so than any other.  This would start with the Sunrise Service, which meant getting up at oh dark thirty to dress in our Easter finery and go to church service.  The altar would be filled with pots of Easter lillies, the choir would sing upbeat songs, and everyone was in a very happy mood. 

Usually there would be a breakfast right after Sunrise Service, then we'd go home for an hour or so to prepare for the regular worship service.  Sometimes we'd do the Easter Egg hunt at home between services, or we'd wait until after the second service, depending on schedules and such.

Besides a new dress, Daddy always managed to get corsages for my birth mother and myself.  An orchid for her, and a carnation for me.  He, of course, was decked out in his black robe, with the white stole around it.  I remember it had gold fringes, and was used at Christmas, Easter, weddings, and funerals.  I always thought he looked magnificient in it.

By the time the last service was done, Daddy would be exhausted, and would nap before and after lunch.  That's understandable, it takes a lot of energy to get a Sunday service going, much less two!   It was understood in our household that Sunday afternoon was Daddy's time to rest.  Usually with a kitty on his lap.

Today is the first Easter without Daddy.  It's a little sad, as all those milestone holidays tend to be.  But I have my memories, and no one can take that away.  I know that on this Easter, he is enjoying a day without pain and fatigue.  He is somewhere in Heaven, havin' a good old time with his friends. 

But I'm also highly annoyed and downright angry this Easter.  That's because of some wild thinkin' on the part of the Indiana Conference of the United Methodist Church. 

You see, their annual conference is just a couple of months away, in June.  They're havin' in Indianapolis again, which is fine.  Every conference meeting, there is a service held to honor the ministers who passed away during the last conference year.  Daddy's passin' was in May, and the cut - off was in April, so they will recognize him this year.

That's great and fine.  I've been prepared for it since Daddy died last year.  That included writin' his memorial for the conference minutes, havin' a picture selected, and bein' prepared to go to the service.  All I needed was for them to let me know the date and send me the forms.

So this week, I get a very interestin' surprise from my oldest (step) brother's wife.  A letter that included everything the conference office had sent him about the service, includin' the memorial write up for the conference and a picture of Daddy!  It was dated mid March, and in that same interim, no such letter was sent to me, the blood child, or to my other (step) brother!

I'm a bit hissed off, as the frackin' obit the conference ran on their own website stated that notes of condolence to my (step) mom be sent in care of yours truly!  It's not like they didn't know who I am/was/is!

My husband, dear man that he is, may think that I'm over - reactin' to this.  It makes sense that the conference would reach out to my big (step) brother because he is, technically, the eldest in the family.  Yet, as far as I know, the conference didn't have his contact information.  Why would they reach out to him when I'm right in town and I am my father's first born? 

That's what hurts me.  It's like I don't exist to the conference.  Considerin' that I served two years as a member of the conference council on youth ministries, and had my educational life uprooted from one town to another throughout my educational career by the conference, it makes me no sense to me!   This snub, if one wishes to call it that, has cut me deep to the core.

This past year, I've also dealt with the lack of reaching out from my home church.  It was temptin' to go to another church at Christmas time, but the husband was persistent, and insisted we go to our home church.  It turned out that while the June newsletter had a blurb about Daddy's passin', the minister hadn't really known about it.  He was shocked when I reminded him that it was the first Christmas without Daddy.  That explained a lot. 

Still, I'm not pleased with this situation, and intend to tell the conference office of my dissatisfaction.  I'm gonna be nice, and not be the attitudinal biker chick.  Unless it's forced. 

I'd rather things come off congenially.  Guess we'll see.  So that's the reason for the grumpy lookin' kitteh in the Easter basket.  Kitteh reflects my happiness for the reason for the day, and my weariness of havin' to deal with this kind of thing. 

Rest in Peace, Daddy.  Say 'hi' to everyone up there.  Miss you and love you.