Milena Moser: How Viktor’s Westerhase made me cry

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Victor sends me an invitation to our, and possibly his, traditional Easter celebration this year. He drew a Western hare wearing a cowboy hat and spurs. – Don’t you think it’s funny too? I nod, hoping he won’t notice that I’m holding back tears. Suddenly I miss not only him, but also our life together with such an acuteness that it takes my breath away for a moment. And then I have to cry. And part of me watches and shakes my head in surprise: What is happening now, Moser? You are especially happy now!

Feelings cannot be dealt with by logic. Not necessarily: they rise and move on, like clouds in a gloomy spring sky.

Later, when Victor hangs up and I pass on his invitation to a few friends, my heart quickly calms down again. The red-hot melancholy cools down to a slight burning sensation. Easter, I think. Of course, Easter has always been one of my favorite holidays, especially when my kids were kids. When I was a teenager, I convinced her to paint and hide eggs with me. What can I say, I have only partially matured. Even though I have no manual skills and mostly paint poems on Easter eggs because I have no patience or talent for anything else, I enjoy it. I also love decorating the apartment, tearing the chocolate ears off each Easter bunny early, and spending weeks recycling hard-boiled eggs. But most of all I love hiding Easter eggs. I was very lucky that after my children were finally past egg hunting age, I married a real child, Victor. And I mean this in the truest and best sense of the word!

Either way, he takes every opportunity to celebrate the party. But he also shares my excitement, my joy in the rituals. The Easter eggs he paints are always true works of art, but he tends to forget that acrylic paint penetrates the eggshell. We hide the eggs so well that even the cheeky raccoons that infest the neighborhood can’t find them. Our guests stumbled upon it a few months later. Even in those years when the Easter party had to be cancelled, we went through these rituals together and had fun – like children. Exactly.

This year I’m celebrating with my family for the first time in a long time, something I’ve wanted for years. Especially now, when the future egg hunter is growing up. My happiness on this occasion is as great as my desire. Both feelings are true, both are mine.

I wish I could miss you, someone spray-painted on the side of the road in San Francisco. I was traveling with a friend who was heartbroken and wanted to make sure she didn’t miss the apostate. “What a stupid saying,” she said. But I understood it differently. You just miss someone you love very much. And it’s always a privilege.

I blow my nose and find a single egg in the refrigerator. Now it’s cooked and colored – or at least scribbled on with a marker.

Source: Blick