For me, Easter has long been more than just a religious holiday. This is the day when I especially feel like a mother. My two little sons are like two bright angels, fussily helping me with the preparations: one holds a whisk, the other does not leave the kitchen while I knead the dough for the paska. And then he tries it with his finger and smiles happily. We paint eggs together - someone will definitely spill paint, someone will break the shell, but all this is real. We weave a basket together, put candles, greenery, bread, eggs in it, and early in the morning we go to church. They walk in shirtsleeves, holding my hand, and I feel that God is near - right here, in these warm palms and honest eyes. This Easter is not about noise, but about silence in the heart. About faith. About love. About hope that everything will be fine. And that my boys will grow up to be real people.