Between

My Dad is scheduled for Surgery next Monday to remove a cancerous kidney.
Today is Friday...That's in 3 days.
That includes an entire weekend of anticipating an event over which I have no control, an event that will greatly impact someone I love to the limits of mortality.
He's been in town this last week, unexpectedly back for additional tests at the medical center, and this time also happens to be my Spring Break.
Everything feels tentative.
Like waiting, but I'm not sure for what.
A couple of millennia past, about this time on a Friday, a Good man was slowly executed for a crime he did not commit, brutally killed by Religion for the expediency of their political agenda.
I have never understood why we call it Good Friday.
But at this moment I can certainly appreciate the Between, that amorphous time of waiting for something... or awaiting... something to happen?
We call Sunday "Easter"; the disciples call it: "They just killed Jesus, and we're probably next if they come for us."
That's why they were hiding in the home on Saturday and Sunday.
There was no jubilant procession of baskets and pastel colors.
There was no sunrise service... there certainly was no building called "church".
There was just a cluster of frightened, bewildered, anxious followers hunkered down in this weird Between time, awaiting the clank of swords and armor.
And instead they got a histrionic sister babling something about the tomb and a gardener and Jesus' corpse being moved.
Happy Easter.