A couple of years before my father died in the fall of 2007, my wife and I were at Easter brunch with my dad and mom at their South Hill retirement community.

It wasn't really the sort of thing he enjoyed. Too many people. Too much background noise to confuse his hearing aid. And, because of his advanced macular degeneration, too many things he could not see.

My dad had a number of truly admirable qualities. But even before he lost his vision, he did not excel at being happy. I think he believed that if he took a break from worrying about his family, his health or money, something bad would sneak up and pull a fast one.

As he closed in on 90, this tendency to see the glass as totally empty became increasingly pronounced.

He had other issues as well. His doctor, a man who is my internist today, once confided in a non-mocking way, "He's not demented, he's just nuts."

So anyway, there we were at Easter brunch. I don't remember precisely what led up to it. But at some point one of us asked my father a question or directed some observation in his direction.

His response?

He sighed and said "If we can just live through this."

I've wondered since if that had ever before been uttered at Easter brunch.

"If we can just live through this."

My wife and I would come to embrace that expression. And today, we say it in all sorts of contexts.

Every time, we do, in fact, live through it. Whatever it is. So far, at least.

It has become our unofficial family motto. My wife has wondered about having it translated into Latin and perhaps emblazoned on a family crest.

But when I think of my Dad at Easter, I'll also remember when I was a little boy and how he would make my new Easter-basket stuffed rabbits talk.

I don't remember what he had them say. It didn't matter, I suppose.

It would have been OK if it were "If we can just live through this."

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