Can you even imagine that? I often can't and have to put in a loved one who was lost to try and feel whatever it was they felt that day. Like what if by the time we had driven all the way out to where my grandma lives we learned that the first news we heard, that she was gone, was wrong. And instead of a funeral we got to have a rousing dinner with her? No, I can't imagine it.
What I can imagine is returning to life, I think, though my version of it is most likely woefully small. My theory is that it is a bit like coming out of the newborn slump. When the baby slowly starts sleeping through the night, or what you consider sleeping through since after months of three hours you happily accept the five or six you get. Suddenly you find you can form a slightly more complex sentence than: Bath, I need. I can only hope the rest of my mind will return after the children are in school. Grown and away? Never?
Again though, instead of imagining a whole new life I just imagine the one that was lost, returned. It was a whole new thing. A whole new version of Jesus. Heck, they didn't even recognize him. I used to think that was because, well, they weren't looking for him. But maybe it was because they were. They were just looking for the old him. The Him that they knew. Sometimes change can be like a death in a way, but it's like the kind that brings new life.
I hope you have a great day. I hope that amidst the egg hunts and lunches, crowded church services and catching up with old friends and family members who are usually far away that you get a minute or two to just be with him. Maybe it's a good thing when we blindly pass the Easter basket laden full of plastic junk to find the One we love and crawl into their lap.