Seventeen of those killed were minors, Haider Ashraf, the deputy inspector general of police for the Pakistani city, told CNN. Almost 370 others were wounded.
Jamat-ul-Ahrar, the group that claimed responsibility, said it was specifically targeting Christians on the holy day, and has vowed more such attacks.
The attack came at a poignant time for the country's Christian minority, some of whom were in the city's Gulshan-e-Iqbal Park to celebrate Easter on Sunday evening.
But not all the victims were Christians -- the simple fact is that families from across the city come to use this park, and the majority of the victims in Sunday's horrific attack were Muslim.
Near a makeshift memorial in the park, a sign, stark white capital letters on a black background, proclaimed what so many in this city think: "Terrorism has no religion."
Among the victims: a young Muslim couple, married just four months.
Overtaken by grief
Naveed Ashraf's mother was beside herself with loss. Her son has married just months before, and the newlyweds -- both Muslim -- were visiting the park with two of Naveed's sisters.
"I entrusted them in God's hands, now they are with God," she said.
It was the first time his new wife, Shawana, had visited the popular spot in Lahore, one of Pakistan's most moderate, cosmopolitan cities.
They both died in the bombing, suffering shrapnel wounds to the head and neck that poured blood, soaking their clothes, hair and faces.
They were buried as soon as possible under Muslim law -- first thing Monday morning. One of Naveed's sisters was also injured in the bombing -- a shrapnel wound in her leg.
"Everyone who saw (Shawana) said 'she looks like an angel,''' Naveed's mother told CNN. "Well, God made an angel come and take my son away."
Moment of innocence before tragedy strikes
Moments before the attack, video was taken of the Ashraf family. They were sitting having snacks close to a food stand when the bombers struck.
In the aftermath, the family searched for them at the park. They found them, broken and bloodied, at the city's Sheikh Zayed Hospital. On the way there they had helped other victims, one family in a stream of volunteers loading the injured into cars, on to motorbikes, anything that could carry them.
The sisters were covered in cloth lying side by side. One had been helped there by strangers, two men that carried her listless body -- men she now calls "brothers."
Despite her own injuries, her sister had searched for help to get her brother to hospital.
"Oh my lion son! I might as well be dead! I don't want to act like this, but I can help it. He was my lion, my big, strong son. Oh, my son was soaked in blood," his mother cried.
"If I could I would swap places with them. I wish I could give all my years to my children," she said, sobs wracking her body. Her husband, Naveed's father, sat next to her, mute in his own grief.
"All I wanted to do was hold my son and daughter in law close like this," she added, wrapping her arms around herself, tightly.
"How could they betray me like this? They took them away in coffins."
The area around the park remains closed, a crime scene. You can see the dark black soot, the scars of where one unidentified suicide bomber carried out this attack. The blackened soil is next to a children's ride.
The perpetrator of this horrific, senseless act likely perished in the flames alongside his scores of victims. He leaves behind, among countless others, a family who say a darkness has befallen them.
