17 months

Dear Ravi,

It has been 17 months since I held you in my arms and said goodbye. I miss you deeply and so does Daddy. I dreamed of you last night. I was holding you and then you slipped away. I tried to follow you but was unable to do so. I awoke from this dream and realized that it was March 11, 2026. You left us on October 11, 2024. My subconscious often remembers dates before my conscious mind does. The alert either comes in a dream, a migraine, or a crushing day of grief. I read a book once called The Body Keeps the Score. It certainly does. You are so deeply embedded in my body that my heart and soul long for you before my mind has time to catch up. Grief is a wild, untamed beast. I wish that grief and I could come to some sort of amicable agreement, but that does not seem possible right now.

I hope you are romping about heaven, free of cancer, epilepsy, pain, and fear. I hope you are hanging out with Rosie, Joyce, and your great aunt Dorothy. I know that they will all take good care of you. Life on earth is rather grim. For some reason our country attacked Iran. Then, Israel jumped into the fray. The Straight of Hormuz is shut down and lined with mines. Our president, who shall remain nameless, is claiming victory. Iran claims that this war will end when they say it will end. There is a warning of drone attacks off the coast of California. To say the least, things are tense.

Over the last week Daddy and I have been watching a mini-series on the Cold War. The series start with the bombing of Pearl Harbor and run up through Vietnam. Over and over again our country has deposed democratic countries and put tyrants and dictators in place. The United States has not learned from our past, we just continue to repeat it. There are tons of mini revolutions that never made it into American history textbooks, but they are all intertwined and have shaped the present day. Maybe if our current president was a history buff and could read above a third-grade level, things would be different. Alas, they are not. History continues to repeat itself and the drum beat of war is loud.

Judging by the way my head feels, there is a major storm moving in. The wind is picking up and the temperature is dropping. I am begging my crocus and your trees that they hunker down and wait to bloom for at least another 6 weeks. Our dear friend April sent me some peonies and bulbs to plant. I have put them in pots around the house to have something blooming inside before things can bloom outside. Your amaryllis bulb has peeked out and looks like it is thinking of blooming. I have babied this bulb since April sent it to me shortly after you passed. It gives me a great deal of hope in the resurrection. Green things and life will come again. We will journey through Holy Week together. We will struggle through Good Friday and be risen again on Easter Sunday.

I miss you, Ravi. You come to me in my dreams and then drift away again. Your spirit is free and I cannot hold on to you. You have gone to a better place where someday Daddy and I will join you. Please continue to pray for your sister. I fear that she is in a very bad place. Currently, I am under a heated blanket and a pile of pets. Daddy is out for lunch with Daniel. I will get up in a while and walk the dogs before it gets too much colder. Go fly free, my child. Love you to the moon and back, Mom.

Shoots of green

Dear Ravi,

As reported earlier, the world is not making very much sense. Maybe I should be more specific. The leader of our country and his henchmen and women seem incapable of making any good decisions. Over the weekend our country started a war in Iran that no one wanted. This is not a “holy war”. This is not divine retribution. This is the slaughtering of innocents. When you died, an entire church full of people grieved. Magnify that grief by 167 little girls who never got to return home from school on Saturday. The grief of their families assails the heavens. Jesus did not tell us to take up arms in His name. Jesus was the Prince of Peace. None of this makes any sense. So, where do we find solace?

I find solace in walking the dogs on a day when it was warm enough to wear a T shirt without a jacket. I find solace in the fact that the days are growing longer, and the temperatures are not so frigid. I am waiting for the 50 crocuses that Laurie and I planted in the front yard to push through the earth. I laughed yesterday when I was walking the dogs across campus and Raya found an entirely uneaten piece of pepperoni pizza. Score! She scooped it up and carried it in her mouth, dancing up the block in glee. After a bit she stopped and gobbled the entire slice, sharing none of it with a disappointed Jack Jack. These are the things that make me smile.

Shortly after you left us our dear friend April sent me an amaryllis bulb. It was just a little bulb, wrapped in some leaves and dirt. I planted it in a pot and waited. Eventually, some green shoots came forth. Over the course of the winter it grew and grew. In the spring it put forth a beautiful red bloom. The bloom eventually faded, but the shoots of the plant seemed determined to take over the dining room table. When warm weather was truly here I replanted it in my garden where it spent the summer going nuts and growing like crazy. I did not want to leave it to over winter outside, so I brought it in. Gradually, it just shrunk down to the bulb and spent the winter hibernating. Today I noticed that it was putting forth more green shoots! Spring is coming. Resurrection is coming. This brave little bulb has given me so much hope. It reminds me of you. You grew, you were beautiful, and you were deeply loved. I see you in my amaryllis and the cardinals. You are a beautiful harbinger of hope.

So, my son, I commission you to continue to be a harbinger of hope, not just for me, but for an entire world that is in pain. For the parents and families who have lost loved ones in a senseless war. To those who were disappeared by ICE. To those who are afraid to leave their homes. Ravi, be their ray of hope. You and I are peacemakers. Daddy is a peacemaker. I don’t think this work ends when we leave this earth. I think this work becomes even more important. You were born to love and to be loved. As I go forth in this world, I carry your memory and I try to show love to my fellow humans and animals. It seems the least that I can do. I miss you deeply, but I believe you are called to do great things. Join our prayer in asking God not for retribution but for peace. For joy, not sorrow. Together Ravi, we can do this. Together. Love you to the moon and back. Mom.

Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war

Dear Ravi,

I slept in this morning while Daddy went to his welding class. I got up, fed the pets, made coffee and let Nikki make biscuits on my chest. I could feel his purr thrumming through my body. I was feeling relaxed until I opened laptop. I did not have it on my bingo card for our country, along with Israel, to attack Iran under the cover of darkness.

Ravi, your daddy lived in Iran in 1972. It was a very different place then, and he greatly enjoyed his time there. It was a bright spot in his childhood. I love hearing his stories from that era. We are peacemakers, you, me, and your daddy. I took you to antiwar protests in a front pack when you were not even old enough to crawl. Being a peacemaker was part of your identity. You were born to accompany me to protests, to speak out against the war machine. We know that there are so many better things that our country can do besides wage war. We can use that money to fight disease, to improve our schools, to have better mental and physical health care, to have flourishing libraries, and to dwell in a country where no one has to worry about food, or rent, or astronomical health care bills. We call America the land of the free. How are we free when others are oppressed? An elementary school full of young girls was attacked in Iran today. Those children were innocent of any wrongdoing, and their blood is on the hands of our government. I weep for the loss of life and the loss of innocence. I weep for mothers and fathers who have to bury their children. No parent should have to bury their child.

Ravi, I am at a loss for words. I cannot understand this wanton destruction. I am also seeing a pattern. When our president attacks another country, it is done under the cover of darkness on a Friday night. War is started when Congress is not in session and the stock market has closed for the weekend. There is a definite trend here. The president does not have the power to declare war, only Congress can do that. This president is a madman and does not care about laws, the Constitution, or any former precedents. Though I miss you deeply, grieve you deeply, I am glad you are not around to witness these atrocities.

So, where do I go from here? I will go to St. Clement’s: I will go to my community. Tomorrow, I will teach a Sunday school lesson on planting seeds of kindness. I will ask my little group how they showed kindness in the last week. I will give them potting soil and Solo cups, and we will plant seeds of our own, to nurture and watch them grow. I will stop in the chapel and talk to you. I will once again remind myself to look for goodness and love in my neighborhood, and the world around me. Your father and I will continue to do Costco runs to Bridge View School. We will not give up hope. We will work and pray for peace. Ravi, you were a peaceful person, and we continue this work in your memory. Please continue to pray for all “victims of hunger, fear, and oppression.” Until we meet again. Love, Mom.

This, that, and the other

Dear Ravi,

Sorry that I have been remiss in writing to you. I have visited you several times, but my muse has gone quiet. I think that she is tired of the winter and lacking in inspiration. I am very excited about several things. The Gathered Community at St. Clement’s continues to grow and gain forward momentum. As you know, we are creating a new worship style for non- neurotypical people, just like you! Our next service will be during Holy Week, and then we shall plunge full time into providing this ministry in the fall of 2026. This does not mean we won’t be working feverishly behind the scenes to pull this off in the meantime! In other news, I am going to a writer’s workshop in April where I can spend 9 hours with 200 other writers refining my craft and getting a chance to pitch our manuscript to an agent. Last week, I met with a different agent for a review of our letter of query. She had good suggestions for me how to tweak the work to make it more appealing to other agents, and I spent about a week stewing about how to do this. Inspiration dawned at 3:30 this morning, so I hopped up and got to work. Right now, the letter is waiting to be edited by your daddy, and the cat and the dog are napping on my pile of notes. I am under a heated blanket with a cup of coffee. For the moment, life is peaceful.

Do you remember in 2019 when I had an emergency spinal fusion? That surgery, fusing C4 through C7, gave me 6 good years. What I have recently discovered is that bones either above or below a fusion begin to degenerate over time. I have not been able to run since October, due to the pain. I did weeks of PT, but it only brought a modicum of relief. At the direction of my neurosurgeon, I am going in for more scans and nuclear medicine next Tuesday. Hopefully, these tests will pinpoint where the pain is coming from. He thinks that doing steroid injections into my cervical spine will be the next step. Historically, I have not had much luck with steroid injections, but he wants to try this before possible surgery. Right now, he cannot guarantee that the surgery will fix the pain, and if he does choose to operate, he would fuse C1, C2, and C3 to the base of my skull, making me lose 90 % of the movement in my neck. Last time I had surgery the surgeon made an incision in the front of my neck, which had a shorter recovery time than if he had gone in through the back, which cuts a lot of muscle. This time, the surgery would have to go in through the back of neck. If the surgeon were to go in through the front, I could lose the ability to swallow or to speak. Obviously, I am not a fan of this idea! I was disappointed with this particular neurosurgeon as he did not seem to take into account the amount of pain that I am in, and how it is difficult to do activities of daily living. He did not give me a lot of options, or much, if any, hope of being pain free and able to properly function. I did call Mayo Clinic, where you had two lifesaving surgeries, but they will not take my insurance. So, I am looking for a second opinion within my network. To say the least, American healthcare is a joke. There is always tons of waiting, negotiating with insurance, and catastrophically high bills to pay. I am more than a bit disgusted.

There are, however, things to be excited about. Eventually, spring will come and I can work in the garden. I will get to see your two trees that we planted blossom and grow. There are writing workshops to attend and blogs to write. There are agents to talk to. Your story will not be forgotten. There are Sunday school classes to teach and worship services to attend. So, not all is bleak. I hope you know how much I love and miss you. Please pray for Mercury, as she has done some incredibly foolish and damaging things. Please pray for your Uncle Rob as he still continues his battle with cancer. Daddy and I love you forever and ever. Mom.

International Childhood Cancer Day

Dear Ravi,

As you know, I stopped in to see you earlier this morning. I hope you could hear the happy chaos of my Sunday school class down the hallway. They were few in number today but made up for it in enthusiasm and sheer noise. Today is International Childhood Cancer Day, a day that we reflect on the living and on those who have passed. We also reflect on the lifelong afflictions that cancer survivors live with. Even when the chemo is over, the bell is ring, the parties have stopped, the symptoms from chemo remain. More often than not, survivors suffer from permanent neuropathy, inability to digest many foods, neurological problems, and osteoporosis. These are the quiet symptoms that are rarely said out loud. After one rings the bell, one’s family and friends except everything to return to “normal”. Ravi, there is no normal after that first scan shows a tumor. Life is turned upside down, capsized, and that ship will never sail easily again. That first scan marks the end of an era, an era where cancer patients were “healthy.” It’s not just the vomiting and hair loss. A cancer survivor may seem alright on the outside, but there are a myriad of health problems on the inside that they will battle for the rest of their lives. My love, you did not survive long enough to suffer the aftermath of chemotherapy. You lived with cancer as long as you could, and then you gracefully and peacefully passed away in my arms. You ascended directly into heaven, leaving your daddy and me to try and comprehend a life without you. Life still does not make any sense. Minnesota is still in turmoil. Our immigrant neighbors hide in their houses. Children are afraid to go to school. Parents are afraid to go to work or to buy groceries. The Whipple Building has become a transport station where innocent people are sent to concentration camps. These are bleak times, but the brave people of our state are fighting back. We march, we protest, we bring aid and food to our neighbors. We call our representatives. I have never been more heartbroken for my state, but again I have never been so proud to be a Minnesota. I moved here 27 years ago and set down taproots. I raised you and your sister here. You are grounded here.

It is a sunny day. Parkas are not needed. Two of the dogs are on the back patio, sunbathing. Gloria and Nikki are inside sharing a sunbeam. This is a false tease, a false spring. Temperatures will drop this week, and there is a chance of snow. Nonetheless, we have off shaken off the deep freeze that we felt down to our bones a few weeks ago. The ice on the sidewalks have melted and the bird songs sound a bit louder. With spring, hope will come.

I miss you, Ravi. Please pray for your sister, Stirling. She has made some terrible mistakes, and I fear that her wellbeing in on the line. She was not there for you during your illness or even at your funeral, but she is still family and we pray for reconciliation. Pray also for peace and victims of fear, injustice, and oppression. Remember your baptismal covenant. You and your sister were both baptized into the body of Christ and that will stay with you forever. You are now one of the company of saints and angels, and martyrs. I will continue in your light and in your memory. Right now, Daddy is a juggling with some dear friends. I am sitting in my reading chair, in the sunshine, reflecting on the amazing life that your lived. Love you forever. Mom.

Music and Compline

Dear Ravi,

Last night was a beautiful evening in a time of pain and chaos. ICE still continues to roam the streets and abduct innocent people. Daily life in the Twin Cities is nothing like it was 2 months ago. We are living under siege. The choir at St. Clement’s decided to do something amazing. They put together an evening of song, beautiful music in the heart of upheaval and trauma. For part of the evening the choir sang. Later, they taught the congregation some beautiful call and response songs, and also how to sing in a round. It was balm for the soul. The evening closed with Compline. Do you remember Compline? I prayed it with you every night that you were in the hospital, praying for both you and the nurses who worked the overnight shift. There are two prayers that I especially love, and I will share them below.

“Keep watch dear Lord, for those who work, or watch, or weep this night, and give your angels charge over those who sleep. Tend the sick, Lord Christ; give rest to the weary, bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the joyous; and all for your love’s sake. Amen. ”

The prayer that directly follow this one I always prayed for the doctors and nurses who were on call.

“O God, your unfailing providence sustains the world we live in and the life we live: watch over those, both night and day, who work while others sleep, and grant that we may never forget that our common life depends upon each other’s toil; through Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen.”

Ravi, every night I still pray for the doctors and nurses who cared for you at Masonic Children’s Hospital. I mention them all by name is hope that our Savior hears me prayer. I am undyingly grateful for all the tender care that they gave you. So many of them came to your funeral. We still receive the occasional note from them, and the dreamcatcher that they made in your memory still hangs on our wall, directly above the pictures we have of you. My love, you are not forgotten.

At the close of the service, Joy blessed a box full of candles for us to take out into the world, to use at a vigil of our choice. The world is full of darkness, but we carry these candles bravely, and our prayers waft upwards like incense. Our light and our voices will not be stilled. At the close of Compline, Daddy and I went downstairs to visit you. We noticed, by looking on the other dates in the columbarium, that you are the youngest person in the room, by a lot. This is a startling difference to the church where I grew up, St Paul’s. That church is older than St. Clement’s and there are many tombstones there for children who did not live past the age of 5. After public health grew and vaccines became available, there were much fewer childhood graves. I worry today because many people have a short view of history and are not having their children receive lifesaving vaccines. As you well know, Ravi, I am a proud autism mama and I vaccinate. You and Mercury did not fall prey to routine childhood illnesses. I wish that there was a vaccine that could have stopped your cancer in its tracks. Alas, there was not one. We fought osteosarcoma with the best of what medicine had to offer, but too often it was with medicines that were 40 years out of date. For this reason, I am starting to view myself not only as an autism advocate but also an osteosarcoma advocate. I am sensing a new calling as I write, and pray, and read. I am not yet certain where this calling will lead me, but I am open to the voice of the Spirit to guide me. You did not fight alone, Ravi. You can rest in eternal peace now, but I will continue to advocate, write, and pray for better outcomes for those with autism and those with rare cancers. I am starting to meet other mamas who are on a similar journey. We are small but mighty.

Ravi, I miss you. I love you forever. Mom.

February 9, 2026

Dear Ravi,

I woke up this morning with a dark cloud hanging over my head. At first, I could not figure out why I was so distressed. I had attended a beautiful church service yesterday and had the opportunity to stop in the chapel and visit with you. Yesterday was a good day. Today, I felt nothing but despair. As I made a cup of coffee, it hit. Today is the 9th. It was the 9th of December 2022 when we first learned that you had cancer. That was the day our world slid sideways. My conscious self may not always remember significant dates, but my heart always will. Eventually, my mind catches up and my grief intensifies.

All in all, today was pretty good. I had coffee with two dear friends from church and got some publishing advice. I signed up for a writing workshop this spring. This is a full day of classes and the opportunity to pitch my manuscript to an agent. My friends who are more knowledgeable about the publishing process than I am all agree, the book is written, now I need an agent to go to bat for me. My driving ambition is to tell your story to a wider audience. My son, you are not forgotten. My cousin Charles tells me that the global prayer of his church this month is focused on children who have incurable diseases and that you are at the forefront of his mind.

Last week, another wonderful thing happened. Teacher Rosalind reached out to me with a picture of a sensory friendly mural that has been put up on your classroom wall in your memory. I know that mural will stand the test of time and bring much pleasure to upcoming students at Focus Beyond. Once again, you are not forgotten. We were going to do another grocery run to your school, but the social workers say that they have a very well stocked pantry right now and do not need immediate help. I will continue to reach out to them and let them know that we are only a text away and will do anything to help both Bridge View and Focus Beyond students and parents.

Ravi, I miss you terribly but rejoice in the knowledge that you are safe with Jesus. The metro area is a scary place to be right now. ICE is abusing and disappearing people right and left. Minorities, who are the backbone of our community are afraid to go to work or send their children to school. I have never seen anything like this before, and I hope I will never see anything like it again. We are aghast at the callousness and cruelty or ICE agents who are drunk with power. On the other hand, I have never been prouder to be a Minnesotan. We stand together, united. I saw a sign I really liked the other day. It said, “When you treat us like Russia, we fight like Ukraine.” I wish we did not have to fight, that we could all live in peace. We are 8 weeks into this siege, and it is very hard. It is hard on children, and it is hard on adults. Some days I am too scared to even leave the house and walk the dogs. The national news does not show what is really going on in Minnesota. Those of us on the inside must be the truth tellers. I will keep writing, keep wearing my red resistance hat, keep speaking out for peace and justice. I have no news of Mercury, but I pray that they are safe. I know that they live about 20 minutes from your Aunt Mags, but that is all I know. Our loss of Mercury is a very different type of loss. To the best of our knowledge, they are safe, but we have not seen them in 3 years. Somedays, it feels like your daddy, and I lived through both a death(yours) and a divorce (Mercury’s exodus).

Currently, I have 2 dogs asleep at my feet, a cat on the back of my chair and a hedgehog under my elbow. She is cuddled up in my red resistance hat. Your daddy is on his way home from juggling. I am glad for this fleeting moment of peace. We will stop in to see you before Compline tomorrow night. I love you to the moon and back. Mom.

World Cancer Day

Dear Ravi,

First of all, some very good news. Two cancer acts have been signed into law. This includes the Mikaela Naylon Give Kids a Chance Act, and the Accelerating Kids’ Access to Care Act. Mikaela was a young woman with osteosarcoma. In her final weeks of life, while on hospice care, she journeyed to Washington DC and spoke on Capitol Hill about the need for more modern treatments to combat rare diseases. Her final acts were ones of advocacy. I wish I could reach out and give her mother a huge hug. Mikaela was like you, fierce and strong, even while facing a stage 4 cancer diagnosis. I will light a candle for her this Sunday at church.

Daddy and I are back from Arizona, adapting to the cold. It is not sub zero anymore, so we have been taking the dogs for daily walks. I even ran a little bit with Gloria, yesterday. It is still very icy, so I am being cautious. I just received a very nice phone call from April, at a Christian publishing company. She said that their review board had read our manuscript, thought it was very well written and interesting and would like to offer me a contract. I am expecting several more conversations with publishers this week and then will choose the one that best fits our needs and our budget. Someway or another, Ravi, we produced at 362-page document that will be released in book, audio and eBook form. It does not seem real. I have wanted to be a writer since Helen Trew first put a pencil in my hand, gave me a journal, and said that I could write anything that I wished. I have been keeping a journal or a notebook ever since. What makes me very sad is that Anabel got hold off all of my notebooks from college, read them and then threw them away. She said that they were just too sad. This begs the question, of course, what was she doing reading my personal journals? In them I also had letters from Mom Sue and friends, jottings on books I had read, what it was like to be a collegiate runner and scholar, and lots of other things as well. Over 30 years have passed, but I still grieve the loss of those notebooks. It felt like she was stealing my voice and erasing my existence. This is only one of the many reasons your father and I have cut contact with my family of origin. Everyone has a story, and they deserve to be able to write their thoughts and not have them thrown into a trash can like they did not matter.

Enough of that, I am still on a high that publishers are reading our book and deeming it fit for print. In the past year, we have had over 4,000 visitors to our blog site. The bulk of these readers are from the United States, but some are from other far flung areas. We have readers from Pakistan, Vietnam, China, Japan, Denmark, Germany, Ireland, the UK and more. Your story is being heard. Ravi, my love, you are not forgotten.

The only thing that bothers me slightly about World Cancer Day is people tend to romanticize it, or make the cancer patients into superheroes or angels. Ravi, your bravery was that of a superhero, but I will never call you an angel. You were a bit of an imp. You stole French fries from complete strangers, launched yourself out of your bedroom window to walk to Super America to get gummi bears, took unchaperoned trips to Subway, and for 22 years marched to the beat of your own calliope. Darling, I love you dearly, but I earned every single grey hair that is on my head! You were sweet, caring, and funny, but you were not angelic. Total stop.

I had a really good conversation with Vanessa at the Osteosarcoma Institute yesterday. We were talking about fund raising. Saroma month is in either June or July and I will do some fund raising then. I have also decided to add a shoutout to OSI at the end of our book as a way for readers to make contributions towards better osteosarcoma outcomes. This seems like a better and more efficient way to raise money than just trying to do it through Facebook or social media.

Ravi, I miss you. I feel that good things are going to happen with our book, but I wish that you were here with me to share the joy and excitement. I never claimed to be your voice, but I am proud to tell your story. Love you to the moon and back. Mom.

Arizona!

Dear Ravi,

Your daddy and I took a week long trip to Arizona to escape the cold, snow, and political upheaval in the Twin Cities. In short, it was wonderful. Pam and Jay hosted us at lovely house in the foothills that they had access to. There was a lemon tree in the front yard and saguaro cactus everywhere. It has been a long time since I have seen such beautiful sunsets, they cast such lovely colors on the mountains. The high temperatures were in the mid 70’s, perfect for sitting on the patio drinking coffee, or going for hikes up the canyon.

We took several hikes up a nearby canyon and my wish came true. I got to see a road runner. They are incredibly fast and very well camouflaged. Unlike the cartoon, they do not say beep beep, but they are very entertaining. We also saw a mama javelina and 2 babies, and another huge javelina standing on the side of the road, near the house. We did not get close to them at all as they are notoriously bad tempered. I have to admit, even the babies are rather ugly.

We had so many marvelous adventures. One day, daddy and I went to the Pima Air Museum. There is so much history there, and so many different types of planes. We saw the Air Force One that Kennedy flew on. This same plane also brought back the hostages from Iran and the POWs from the Iraq War. It was an honor just to be near it. There is another part of the museum devoted to World War II. It is run by veterans. Sadly, we only had a half an hour there before it closed for the day. We just missed seeing a pilot from World War II. He is 102 years old and comes to the museum every Thursday. A different World War II pilot is there on Mondays. I want to return as soon as possible. As you know, there are very few veterans from this war left alive.

On Saturday night we went to the Mount Lemmon Observatory. Ravi, it took my breath away. The observatory is at 9,161 feet in elevation. We got to see a marvelous sunset, had dinner, then went to the observatory. We saw Saturn, Jupiter, Sirius, the nebula of Orion, and the moon. Everything was so clear, you could clearly see the rings around Saturn. There were also a number of graduate astronomy students there to answer questions. They were fascinating to listen to. Ravi, I knew your daddy was an astronomy nerd, but I had no idea that it ran so deep. The students and their leader complimented him on his questions and at the end of the night told him that if he were ever looking for a job, he should give them a call! I am very proud of him.

Today, Sunday, was also a really good day. We met Tom and Karen at the glider port and went for rides. I have not been in a glider since at least 2001, and it was a blast. There was no lift and plenty of sink, so the ride only lasted about 20 minutes, but I savored every second of it. Daddy also went up for a ride and thoroughly enjoyed himself. He won’t get to glide again until at least April, when the field here dries out, but it was a marvelous way to spend the first day of February.

Alas, all good things must come to an end. We hung out at the airfield as long as we could, then had to head to the Tucson airport. We hadn’t eaten since breakfast, so in your honor we stopped by a Taco Bell on our way. I want to note that we did eat lots of great authentic Mexican food while we were there, but this little side trip was done just for you.

The dogs and cat were very happy upon our return. It is not quite as cold as it was when we left and there is a fresh coat of snow. Though I loved all of our trip to the Southwest, it feels good to be home. We have work to do here, to defend our state and to fight for democracy. I have the final clean edit of your book and am busy looking for an agent. I plan to return to work part time in March. Daddy is taking another welding class this month, too. I love you and miss you, but I felt your presence in the mountains and the desert. Love you to the moon and back. Mom.