As it happens, the priest based his Easter sermon on the article mentioned below. There was no equivocation from the pulpit — not that I expected any. But there was this comment: that we need no proof, no scientific evidence, to believe. All we need is faith.

Having my father on the other side now — someone who lived so fully on earth in his human “skin” — makes me think and hope that all that love, all that energy, has gone somewhere. That it exists in a form I can’t access at this point makes sense to me.

Last Friday I stopped by the church for a few moments. I had driven home from Kentucky that day and missed the service I usually attend. By instinct I headed for the small chapel, what used to be the main sanctuary before the grand, new one was built.

The minute I stepped into that welcome darkness I was struck by the aroma. It was the Easter flowers. They had already been delivered — all the lilies, azaleas, hydrangeas and hyacinths — and were being stored in the chapel until the great Easter vigil celebration Saturday evening. The fragrance was almost overpowering, but I inhaled deeply anyway.

It was a preview, a welcome aromatic reminder, of all that lies in store.