For most of the last half-century, my mom has worked as a Registered Nurse. But in the spring of 1995, she was the Easter Bunny in the Galleria Mall in White Plains. Every year, right around now—when the magnolia in my parents’ backyard starts to flower and winter’s dread begins to recede (ha ha, right!)—this memory wafts back to me in a trachea-puckering haze of pollen and cherry blossom. It has always seemed like an odd blip on the screen of my childhood. I called her after