Easter morning started innocently enough around our home. Children thrilled by the fact that a mysterious hairy rodent with abnormally large ears would visit silently in the night leaving all manner of chocolate, gummy bears, jelly beans and hordes of sugar laden, high fructose filled, tooth decaying treats. Their squeals of excitement were uncontainable. At one point, I'm sure there was leaping and singing. There was no need for breakfast, Sir Rodent had seen to it that my children would be blinded to any other food substance this day. So be it.

As promised, the structure was sound and the Easter service was uneventful. Save for the migraine I developed discussing theology with my five year old son. One picture. Just one picture of the crucifixion on the brochure and the floodgates were opened wide. The onslaught of questions was dizzying. And deep. Well thought out, intelligently formulated questions requiring more than a pat or rote answer. Coupled with the innocent inquisitive inflections of a five year old boy and my heart was melted. At one point I had to resort to distraction tactics to avoid his questions. "But, Dad. Why would they want to kill him?" he asked. "How many windows do you think are in here?" came my reply. "Couldn't that guy have stopped it? Why didn't he stop them from killing him?" he asked. "Who do you think lights all those candles?" my reply. I hadn't nearly enough coffee. I wasn't ready. I longed for those words. Seven words of deliverance. The mass has ended, go in peace.

I suppose some of the blame for losing my Zella to the demons of chocolate has to fall on my shoulders. Yes, I was an enabler. Really, though. She was unable to get the aluminum wrappers from the candy and I couldn't bear to watch her eat through another, spitting the aluminum shards all over the house. I unwrapped. She ate. And so it went for quite some time. I lost track. I could barely keep up with her demands. I fed the beast. The beast ate heartily. It all happened so fast. In a matter of hours. Honestly, I did not know that a child could eat their weight in chocolate. Live and learn.

She shuffled from person to person mumbling, ranting really, to herself, to no one, to anyone. Hair mussed, clothes disheveled. One shoe missing. There were no socks. Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated. Clearly she was hallucinating. She dropped something and struggled to find it. Absorbed in their own world, too preoccupied with simpler matters to notice or pay her any mind the rest of my kids did their level best to ignore her, save turning a cold shoulder when she drew near or pulling their things closer out of her reach. It was sad, heartbreaking to see this poor creature and how she now presented herself. Visions of days past, happier days filled my mind. This one has been lost, torn from what matters in life, isolated now by her addictions and the power they wielded over her. Zella, come back to me. Zella!!!

I'll not soon forget that image of my little one. She crashed. Hard. It was not pretty. It was a painful lesson for all of us. But we have learned our lessons. We are free now from the strongholds of our addictions. We'll stand together! But there's only 5 months until Halloween.

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