Addiction Recovery Story #26, Tête-à-Tête Daffodil: Tiny But Mighty, Rising up in the Cold

All my life, Easter has signified rebirth and new hope. This is #26 in my flower-titled series about sugar/overeating addiction, started 1/31/21. I pledged to capture my struggles in real time and real stories, as they emerge in the garden of life.

The true champs among spring flowers. A band of Buttercup-yellow, ruffled trumpets to announce the season. They bring to mind little girls’ straw hats and color-dipped dresses—handpicked outfits for Easter Mass. The baby blooms emerge head to head, Tête-à-Tête, on fresh green stems. Even their French name is fashionable. They are resilient.

I’m writing this on Good Friday, and though I’m less devout now than I was as a Saint Mary’s School girl, I remember when the darkness and mourning of this day on the Catholic calendar really hit me.

I was a Rutgers student, returning home for Easter weekend via two buses — the first from New Brunswick to the Port Authority and then the #167, barreling through the Lincoln Tunnel en route to downtown Dumont. (My mother was a firm believer in me finding my way with public transportation.)

I pulled the bus bell cord on Washington Avenue, crossed the street and walked right into Saint Mary’s Church, with its soaring steeple, polished pews, Blessed Virgin statue, snow-white from head to toe. Mary — looking slender, gentle, maternal and kind when I daydreamed during Mass. I liked her long hair. I liked that she was womanly — serene, quiet and insightful, a feminine presence in the midst of a parish run by priests. We women especially knew Mary had power; my mother and grandmother prayed to her for big…