Христос воскрес!

today we did the blessing of the baskets business that used to define my childhood.
what it did today was make me incredibly sad. the only place i remember doing this is at St. Josaphat's. i used to absolutely love the stairs. while my baba's talked to other people in Ukrainian, i'd be running up and down the stairs, paying special attention to the sides and corners. i can't remember how many times i was yelled at to be careful, to stop doing that, to stand still.

this year, we did it at Holy Eucharist and the last time i was inside that church was when we buried my great grandmother. the issue of time healing all wounds just seems so silly because i can still cry without provocation when i think about her. christmas and easter are notoriously bad for these nostalgic attacks and i'm surprised i didn't lose it last weekend making nalashnky and paska. there is something so inherent inside me that just makes me feel this incredible sense of loss whenever there are traditions that have been broken or altered because people die and things change.

i constantly feel torn between the life i desperately want for myself vs. the life i think i should lead due to my love of tradition. and no matter what i try to figure out, i always end up feeling stuck in the middle of both of these extremes and right now i just feel pretty blah about the whole thing.

i miss my baba. i want to go to her house tomorrow morning and have the whole place wreek of cabage. i want to eat her apple squares. i want to hear her delayed "....mmmmhello?" when she answers the phone. i just want to feel like there is some sort of constant somewhere, but everything's changing and i'm once again at a cross-roads.