Still Shining: By the Light of the Silvery Moon… and Something Even Brighter

The day after Easter always feels a little quieter.

The baskets are half-empty.

The dresses are hung back up.

The house settles.

But this year… the light didn’t.

Because yesterday, I got to spend Easter with my Grandma GG—

and I swear to you…

even though dementia has taken so much of her mind,

her light?

Still fully on.

Still glowing.

Still warm.

Still her.

At Mass, Brooksy sat next to her, holding her hand.

And she smiled.

Not a confused smile.

Not a distant one.

A knowing, loving, exact same smile I’ve seen my whole life.

The kind that makes you feel safe.

Seen.

Held.

And in that moment, I realized something I don’t think I’ve ever fully understood before:

You can lose pieces of your mind…

but you don’t lose your light.

During the homily, the priest talked about the moon.

About how Easter—and even Passover—isn’t just picked randomly on a calendar.

It’s chosen by the sky.

By the sun.

By the moon.

By light itself.

Easter is celebrated on the first Sunday after the first full moon of spring.

A full moon.

The brightest night sky.

The moment when light pushes back darkness in the most visible way.

And I couldn’t stop thinking about that as I sat next to GG.

Because that’s exactly what she felt like.

A full moon.

Even with so much darkness trying to take over…

she still shines.

Later, I kept thinking about my mom.

How she has always sung this with the kids and all the cousins—

up north, on summer nights, around campfires, on their “moon walks”:

By the Light of the Silvery Moon

Song by Julie Andrews ‧ 1962

By the light, (By the light, By the light),

Of the silvery moon, (The silvery moon).

I want to spoon, (Want to spoon, Want to spoon)

To my honey I'll croon love's tune.

Honeymoon, (Honeymoon, Honeymoon),

Keep a shining in June. (Keep a shining in June)

Your silvery beams will bring love dreams,

We'll be cuddling soon,

By the silvery moon.

And this morning, she left them a note before heading to Florida—

telling them she loves them “to the silvery moon and back.”

And it hit me…

This has always been about more than a song.

It’s about light.

The kind you carry.

The kind you pass down.

The kind that doesn’t depend on circumstances, or memory, or even understanding.

Because here’s what I saw yesterday:

Faith isn’t just something we believe.

It’s something that glows.

Passover follows the full moon.

Easter follows right after it.

Both anchored in spring.

Both rooted in renewal.

Both built around the idea that light always returns.

That it always wins.

And yet…

sometimes we go looking for that light in big places.

In answers.

In clarity.

In control.

But yesterday, I found it in something much simpler:

A hand being held.

A smile that never left.

A soul that refused to dim.

We are in the middle of a move right now.

Boxes everywhere.

A house in Mequon that doesn’t even have running water yet.

Dust. Chaos. In-between.

And if I’m being honest… it doesn’t always feel very “put together.”

But Easter isn’t about everything being finished.

It’s about everything being alive again.

Even in the mess.

Even in the unknown.

Even in the rebuilding.

Because just like the moon…

the light was never gone.

It was just waiting to be seen again.

And GG reminded me of that.

In the most beautiful, unexpected way.

Her light isn’t fading.

If anything…

it feels electric.

Like something deeper than memory.

Stronger than circumstance.

Closer to heaven than we even realize.

And maybe that’s the whole point.

That the light we carry isn’t dependent on how much we remember,

or how much we understand,

or how perfectly we hold it all together.

It was placed inside of us.

By Him.

And it stays.

So today—the day after Easter—

when things feel a little quieter…

look again.

Because the light didn’t leave.

It never does.

It shines in our stories.

In our families.

In our children.

In our grandparents.

In handwritten notes.

In campfire songs.

In full moons and spring mornings.

And in the souls that remind us…

we were never meant to hold it alone.

By the light…

of the silvery moon…

and something even brighter.

And a gentle reminder…

a coloring picture from Brooks and Eva—drawn together on our road trip to Wisconsin to celebrate Easter with Grandma GG.

A bright yellow star.

A bow.

A smile that feels a lot like hers.

And words we probably all needed to hear:

Be the light and smile.