Author: snort262

I am a wife, mom, long distance runner and fierce autism advocate. My background is in education. Currently, I am a paraprofessional at a Title One school, a fighter for kindness and social justice, and a fervent animal lover.

From a Boulder to a Crater

Good afternoon, friends, and happy Pride! We are bumping along over here at #TeamRavi. We miss him deeply. Early on in our grief journey a friend of Robert’s gave him the analogy that deep grief is like a boulder that lands in the middle of one’s living room. Everyone knows that it is there and tries to tiptoe around it. Sometimes though, one is short of patience, or calories, or endurance and runs right into it. Bam! And it hurts. Robert suggested this analogy to his therapist last week. Instead of a boulder, she suggested a crater. There is this massive hole that appeared in the middle of the living room. On good days, one can see the hole and navigate around it. On not so good days, one walks straight into it and rapidly descends into a grief spiral. This analogy suits us better. There are some days that we can tiptoe around the crater. Robert will go soaring or juggling. I will run my dogs or go for a walk with friends. I distract myself with writing and advocacy work. Other days, when I can barely pry myself out of bed, I walk out of our bedroom and descend into the abyss. Sometimes, I don’t come out for many days. I don’t reach out to friends, I stop eating, I just plain old don’t see the point of doing anything anymore. This is the crater in the living room. Fortunately, Robert and I do not usually fall into the crater at the same time. Also, we are blessed with a wonderful group of friends and our church.

Today, my writing prompt was “Who would you like to spend the most time with?” The answer is obvious. I want to spend time with my offspring. I want to talk to them, hug them, laugh with them. But one is gone to heaven and the other has struck out on their own. This is a more unambiguous grief. Mercury is still alive, I hope, but we have not seen her in over 2 years. They too, are deeply missed.

Several nights ago, I was at a sign making gathering at St. Clement’s. We were making signs for peace, for pride, for protests, or anything we felt strongly about. There was a group of young girls there who brought me sheer joy just through their energy. They were engaged in sign making, pausing for snacks and random dance offs, and laughing hysterically, just enjoying being with their friends in a safe place. No adult was telling them to sit down, be quiet, to not be so much, to not call attention to them themselves. There was not an iPhone or iPad in sight. It was so refreshing to be around that young energy. It gave me a ray of hope for the upcoming generation of young women. I had forgotten how much I loved being surrounded by pre-teens and their utter exuberance in life. I made my signs and went home smiling.

Next weekend I am marching in the No Kings protest on Saturday, and volunteering at our church booth at Pride on Sunday. These are the things that get me out of bed in the morning when I really don’t want to emerge from my safe cocoon of blankets. Once I get out of the house, I am usually safe from the crater.

Ravi has a birthday on June 18. Mercury has a birthday on June 25. I really do not know how I am going to navigate these two days, but I will definitely be navigating them with Robert, outside of the house. For Ravi, we will go visit him in the chapel/columbarium. Then we might go for a long walk, or to the zoo or the conservatory. On the 25th, I will do what I do every day, which is to release my love for Mercury into the universe and hope that it somehow finds her. I remind myself that I am still a mom. I gave birth to two amazing children. They may not be in my arms, but they are never away from my heart.

Until the very end, Ravi was a doer. He was not passive. We will not be passive, either. I encourage you to involve yourselves with something greater than you. Go to a rally. Hug your kids. Help a random stranger. Be a good human. Peace, Harriet.

Putting Running Shoes Back On

#TeamRavi, you have been cheering us on for years and continue to do so. We are so grateful. Ravi is not forgotten. As most of you know, I have been a distance runner since I was a pre-teen. I ran my first road race at age 13 and my first marathon at age 14. For me running, is how I best experience the world, how I play, how I recharge, and how I pray. Over the years I have used my running to raise money, first for autism advocacy and later for osteosarcoma. Running comes as naturally to me as breathing, until it didn’t.

On October 11, 2024, I ran 6 miles in the late afternoon. There was nothing particularly memorable about that run. I marked my miles on my calendar and resumed taking care of Ravi. That night, Ravi passed away and I stopped running. This is not to mean that I stopped moving. Since that fateful night, I have grief walked at least 1,000 miles. But, for some reason, I could not run. I was afraid that I would shatter into a million little pieces and would never be able to put myself together again. So, I walked. Robert walked. The dogs walked. We paced the neighborhood at all hours of the day or night. But I couldn’t bring myself to run, until this week.

I was out walking my dog, Gloria, earlier this week. She has been my long-time running partner. I was about 1.5 miles from home. Suddenly, I wondered what would happen if we just picked up the pace a little and tried a jog. As we gradually gained a bit of speed and forward momentum, my legs and my lungs began to remember what running used to feel like. By the time we were home, I was pleasantly fatigued, but not completely wasted. Today was a grey, rainy day. In the late afternoon the downpour stopped and on impulse, I grabbed Gloria’s leash, some poop bags and a handful of dog treats. I had a sudden goal in mind. I wanted to run out a mile and then back a mile, without stopping. I did not care about time or pace; I just wanted to move my legs. The first few blocks of the run were more like a shuffle. Gradually, I fell into a rhythm. We made it out a mile, and I spent about 2 minutes just walking and bringing my heartrate down. Soon, I felt like running again, so we took off for home. The mile back passed more quickly than the mile going out. I was thoroughly warmed up at that point, my legs did not feel heavy, and my cardio was pretty decent. A different feeling than I was used to was welling up inside of me. I sat with this feeling for moment, trying to recognize it. Suddenly, it hit me. I felt happy. Not elated or joyous, just happy and somewhat proud of myself. It was a good, albeit unusual feeling. I put Gloria in the house and got leashes for the other two dogs. As a gentle cooldown, I walked them 4 miles, giving them ample time to sniff to their hearts content and check the local pee mail.

Later, I look back at this run. It wasn’t elegant, it certainly was not fast. A herd of turtles probably could have beaten me with little effort. But I feel good. I am looking forward to tomorrow when I can run again. I want to slowly work my way up to 3 miles of running by the end of this week. I am toying with the idea of finding a local 5km to jump into before I run the Finish the Run 5km in September. The 20-, 30-, or 40-year-old Harriet would have scoffed at today’s effort. She would have viewed a 2-mile run as a warmup for a much longer adventure. But I don’t care. 54-year-old Harriet is content. Tomorrow is supposed to be sunny, and I want to go for another gentle run. Today represented a mental breakthrough. I was able to take my grief for a run, and it did not shatter me. Nothing bad happened. For this, I am very grateful. I feel blessed. From the time he was a baby, Ravi knew that his mom was a runner. Maybe he is surprised that I took a 7-month sabbatical. At any rate, I am back. Running is how I love to move my body, how I problem solve, and how I pray. I am grateful to have this gift back in my life. I am not fast, but between my running and my writing, this is how I can best show up for my son. Be good humans, wave at runners. Peace, Harriet, Ravi’s mom.

Off The Rails

Social media is a funny thing. Mostly, I use it to look for a send silly cat and dog pictures to my friends. It allows me to stay in touch with people I otherwise would not hear from. Sometimes, however, social media gets a bit nosy and a bit creepy. Follow along.

I wrote extensively about Ravi in the last two years of his life. #TeamRavi gained momentum and followers. Our friends were our link to the outside world, cheering us on while we were confined to one hospital room after another. During this time, social media decided to that I needed to see lots of entries on cancer. This was the good, the bad, the ugly, and the flat out absurd. I met some extraordinary people, and I got a lot of spam. I never did find any good information on osteosarcoma, but I did get ads for lots of clinics in Mexico that did not take insurance but claimed that they could cure cancer with sound waves directed into the bone and a diet of coconut. For obvious reasons, I hit delete and kept on moving. After about a year of this, social media decided that my kid’s time must be up and started sending me articles on hospice care. At that time, this was the farthest thing from our minds. Once again, I hit delete and kept on scrolling. After Ravi passed, I was besieged with articles and links on grief and child loss. Some of this was useful, most of it was maudlin and not worth my time.

Last night, things got truly weird and went off the rails. Not one, but two links popped up under grief, but this was no ordinary grief post. This was a “cutting edge seminar” on grief counseling that would let a mourner get in touch with their loved one’s ghost! To quote a dear friend of mine, “I shit you not”. First of all, the idea of ghosts has been around forever. Since when do they need cutting edge technology to communicate with the living world? Why do I need cutting edge technology to talk to a ghost? Can’t I just say “Hi” and they say “Boo!” and we are done? My priest, Joy, says ghosts are bad theology. Maybe so, but I have seen enough weird things in my life not to truly discount the existence of ghosts, or something other worldly. Anyway, I let out a snort, hit delete, and kept on scrolling, as one does.

So, there you go. Social media is weird. It tries to be predictive, and often greatly misses the mark. Yes, eventually we did need help with hospice, loss, and grief, but we did not need social media leading the charge. I don’t need a seminar on grief and ghosts to talk to Ravi. I talk to Ravi all the time and I firmly believe that he hears me. I see him in the sunrise, in monarch butterflies, and in cardinals. In ways, he is tangibly present to me. This does not mean that I don’t grieve him deeply, but I know that his spirit is alive, happy, and free of pain in a plane of existence which I cannot even fathom.

I will wrap this up by saying that social media is not the real world, or even a shadow of the real world. It is just a mishmash of pictures and words. No one’s real life is what they portray on the internet. It is “just sound and fury signifying nothing.” We can “strut and fret” all we like, but in the end, it is the work that we do in the real world, the outside, tangible world, that makes a difference. So, this is my plea to you. Log off and go outside. Touch the grass. Take a walk. Look for cardinals and monarch butterflies. Breathe deeply. Be good humans and we will be in touch. Peace, Harriet, Ravi’s mom.

Out and About

Hello, #TeamRavi! It is beautiful spring weekend, and our friend has been seen in the form of a cardinal twice in the last two days. He is looking most perky and dapper. The first appearance was when I was driving up Summit Avenue. I looked over at the green space in the middle of the road and saw a cocky young male cardinal. I said, “Hi, Ravi!” and he turned his head and looked straight at me. No joke, I swear that the bird smiled at me. The second encounter was almost in the same place, going the other direction on Summit. I was walking two of our dogs. The bird came flying towards me, did a few acrobatics in the air, just to show off, and landed in a nearby tree, where he commenced to fluff out his feathers and preen. Obviously, he is feeling very good about himself. The red feathers made a stunning display against the backdrop of green leaves.

Things are up and down these days. I relish the sunshine and the warmer weather. I am waging a losing war on the bunnies who keep snacking on my flower beds. Robert has been up soaring lately, and his parachute just arrived. It came from the manufacturer with a bottle of nice wine, saying, “Hope this is the only thing you ever need to open!” With all luck, Robert will never have to open his chute, but it is always a good thing to have while soaring, particularly in competition. Weather permitting, he is hoping to go up again this week.

When I was out running the other day, I saw two beautiful dragon flies. These symbolize Jonathon, Alissa’s older brother, who is now hangout out with Ravi. It is a great week when I can see both tangible signs of both of these incredible young men. Death has not held them back. There is no more epilepsy and pain. Truly, they are flying free. Enjoy your weekend and remember those who paid the ultimate sacrifice this Memorial Day. You are all good humans, and I am proud to call you my friends. Peace in this crazy world. Harriet, Ravi’s mom.

God speaks, God moves

Good morning friends. It is still dark outside, the birds are not singing yet, but my muse has a few things to say.

My memories of last October are spotty at best. Some images will never leave my mind. Other times, forgotten images come bubbling up. Today, I woke up with two very clear memories. The first involves the word columbarium. While Ravi was in hospice, my goal was to spend every moment with him. My focus was only on him. I adamantly refused to make any plans for after he passed, because he was still with us and I wanted to focus on the living Ravi for as long as I could.

Time wrinkles here. I think this happened a few days after his passing. I was sitting in my favorite chair, praying and meditating. The word, columbarium, suddenly bubbled up in my mind. I had never even thought about this word before. I grabbed my phone and texted Elizabeth, our associate rector. I asked her if St. Clements had a columbarium, and could Ravi find a home there. Immediately, she answered me. Yes, our church has a columbarium in the downstairs chapel and St. Clements would be proud to give Ravi a resting place there. Looking back on this, I realize me instincts, or my ability to listen to God were exactly right. There was no reason to plan for Ravi’s demise while he was still living. I just focused on him and let God sort out the details.

October 12, 2024, is a blur in our minds. Ravi had passed and Robert and I were shattered. One by one two by two, our friends came to sit with us, to hold us, to mourn with us. Our wonderful rector, Joy, was out of town that weekend. I did not know when she would be back, or if she knew about Ravi. On impulse, whim, called by God, I picked up my phone and texted her. All I said was, “Can you please come?” I hit send, and there was a knock at the door. It was Joy, who enfolded us in huge hugs and just sat with us and let us weep. I am completely convinced that she was sent to us by God at that exact moment.

Slowly, the memories bubble up from last fall, often in the form of dreams. I want to end with something I find curious and totally off subject. When I prepare a blog to be written, Word Press suggests tags to go along with it, to attract more readers. Sometimes, the tags make sense, other times they are way off base. Whenever I talk about God, which is a lot, Word Press suggests that I tag this as fiction. If I even mention running, such as in my last post, Word Press wants to tag it as running, fitness, marathons. Hmmm. Yesterday, I wrote about Finish the Run 5km. Word Press adamantly wanted to tag this as a marathon. I have run plenty of 5kms and plenty of marathons. They are NOT the same thing. Ah well, AI, what can I say? Once again, thanks for reading. Be good humans, look for Ravi when you see cardinals or butterflies. Peace, Harriet.

Finish The Run

Years ago, I ran a 5km in Minneapolis called Finish the Run. It was in honor of a runner who died while on his regular running route. His parents set up this 5km for people to run in his memory and anyone else important in their lives who had passed away. When I ran this race, I ran it in honor of my cousin Joyce, who had died from cancer. This was long before Ravi became ill, and I had mostly forgotten about the race. The other day, I received notice that this race was celebrating its 10th and final year. I decided to run it again, in honor of Ravi. Participants were welcome to enter a small story about the person whom they had lost, so I wrote a story about Ravi, submitted it, and forgot all about it, as the race is not until September.

Two mornings ago, I received the sweetest email in my inbox from Sandy, the race founder and director. ” Good morning, Harriet. I wanted to reach out to you re: your personal story that you shared on our Finish the Run website. I am Sandy Forster, and David, whom this run was built around, was my oldest son. I really loved what you shared and wondered if you would mind if we used that on our social media to illustrate how this event touches others in ways beyond our own son’s story. We would not use your last name- and would not have to use Ravi’s or your first name, either, if you would prefer, but would then share your exact words. I’d 100% respect if you would rather not have us do this. Either way is fine. Thank you for letting us know who Ravi was, and the pure joy he brought to the world, and we are so very sorry for the loss of this radiant human. Sandy Forster.

I immediately responded to Sandy and said that I was delighted for her to share Ravi’s story and to please use our names. I look forward to seeing her at the race. Once again, my prayer was answered. A complete stranger said his name to me, and I am reminded that he his memory lives on in this crazy world that we live in.

I am still recovering from Mother’s Day. Despite the love that so many of you shared with me, it was still a gut punch. I am trying to remember to breathe, and to take life one moment at a time. Next month is Ravi’s birthday on June 18th, and Mercury’s birthday on June 25th. These dates will take some careful planning so that I do not spiral into a disaster area in my mind. I am joining a rapid response team at St. Clements, and I will march with my church in the Pride Parade. As other events emerge, I will find more ways to celebrate my children.

Thank you for all your love and kindness, pictures and memories. You are good humans, through and through. Peace, Harriet.

Mother’s Day, 7 months, plants, and stuff

I have been dreading today for weeks. I did not know how to get through Mother’s Day when I don’t feel like a mom. I didn’t know how to function when it has been exactly 7 months since Ravi took his last breath. So, I laid a game plan. I would attend the Adult Forum and 10:30 service with a dear friend. Afterwards, I would go downstairs to the chapel/ columbarium and spend as much time as I needed with Ravi. Then, I would go buy flowers and plant them in the back yard. The day went as planned, with a few miracles thrown in for good measure.

I went to adult forum with my friend. At the end of it, a woman from the vestry approached me. I had never talked to her before. “You are Ravi’s mom, aren’t you?” How had she known that I was praying that someone would just say his name? Turns out, she is the aunt of one of the young men on Ravi’s Special Olympic team, The Saint Paul Magic. We exchanged pleasantries and moved on to church. Once in the church, an astounding wave of grief hit me. I silently sobbed through most of the service. It was a lovely service, but I was completely flooded by grief. My friend just held my hand. After the service I went downstairs to the chapel/columbarium. I pulled a chair as close as I could to Ravi’s niche and just sobbed. I have no idea how long I sat there. Eventually, I gained a bit of composure and staggered out into the sunlight.

On returning home, I checked my phone. The first two texts were from the two people who have always stood by us, my sister-in-law, Cindy, and my cousin Paul. These two reached out every day during Ravi’s illness and every day since then. They are very dear to my heart. There were also texts and emails from friends, teachers at Ravi’s school, and other bereaved moms. I took a while to sit with this, then Robert and I went to Menards. We slowly wandered the garden section, and I picked out flowers and herbs that called to me. Once home, I spent several glorious hours digging in the dirt, planting and watering. Getting dirt on my hands and under my nails was good therapy. Later, we got Greek takeout.

So, this was the day that I had dreaded. I will be honest, parts of it were brutally hard. Other parts, goodness and mercy flowed into me. I want to thank everyone who said Ravi’s name to me, to everyone who reached out with pictures or spoke of sweet memories. I am proud to call you friends. I am wrapping up today by writing and listening to Glenn Gould play Bach. Music speaks to my soul. Gardening feeds my soul. My friends prop me up when I feel that I can no longer stand. I thank all of you. Be good humans. Say Ravi’s name and smile. Peace, Harriet.

Say His Name

Friends, Mother’s Day is quickly approaching, and I am feeling some fear and dread. I have celebrated this day as a mother since 2003, when Ravi was an infant. I absolutely loved being a mom. I was even happier in 2004 when Stirling joined our merry little band. This year, I am at something of a loss. We never made a huge deal out of Mother’s Day, other than a card and some hugs, no big productions or a fancy mimosa breakfast. Usually, we just spent the day as a family, hanging out and having fun. I really miss that. Ravi is gone and Stirling is estranged. I have no one to call me mom.

So, what I am going to do instead of crawl under a rock? (Trust me, this is tempting.) I sat down and though of the women I think most highly of. The women who nurtured me, loved me, pushed me, believed in me. I picked out a pretty card for each one and wrote them a letter of gratitude. I put the letters in the mail. Still, Sunday looms in front of me. So, I will be attending church with a dear friend. After the service, I will go to the chapel/columbarium and chat with Ravi for a while. I know that his spirit is not in that space. When Joy interred his urn she told us, “Ravi is not here.” Ravi spirit is loose and free in the world. He is no longer shackled by cancer, epilepsy, or pain. I go to the chapel frequently because a tiny part of him is there, and it is a good space to meditate, cry, and pray. I will spend the time that I need in the chapel and then return home. I will take the dogs for walks or runs. Later, Robert and I will go to Menards to pick out flowers and we will plant them in the backyard.

So, here is my request to you this Sunday. Please say his name. His name is Ravi. People are often afraid to say his name, thinking that it might upset us. No, we have suffered the greatest loss a parent can face. Saying his name will not hurt us. Saying his name tells us that you remember him too, and that he was loved greatly. Send your voice and your good will out into the universe. If you have a happy Ravi story, or even that he just made you smile. please feel free to share this on the blog, or on Facebook. Civilizations were built on stories. Families build their own stories. On Sunday, be a good human, say Ravi’s name for us. If you see a cardinal, or rainbow, or something else amazing, he is saying hello back to you. If he appears to you in a dream, know that he knew you were a good person, and he is popping in to say hi. As always, be good humans. The world is chaotic, but there is still good to be seen and shared. Peace, Harriet.

Dear Ravi

My dear son, I have been silent these last few weeks as my laptop was in the shop, and I can’t compose anything of note on my phone. I am happy to have my computer back. I was mostly silent during April, which is Autism Awareness Month. It was the good, the bad, the ugly, and the absurd. I will spare you most of the details. I want you to know that RFK is wrong with a capital W. He said you would never write a poem. Ravi, your entire life and the way you lived it was a poem. He said you would never go on a date or have friends. Ravi, you had a bevy of female friends who loved to scoop you up and go have fun with you. These friends love and miss you. I will spare you the rest of the garbage that this man spews because you know, and I know, that whatever he has to say is complete rubbish.

Ravi, your life was a song, and I loved the way that you sang it. I treasure every moment that your father and I were able to spend with you. I just wish there were more moments. Your father recently drove to MS to pick up a glider from his dad. To the relief of many, at age almost 90, your grandfather finally hung up his wings. The glider that Dad now owns is a very perky shade of yellow. It is called a Duck Hawk, but I have dubbed it The Canary. Dad also brought back lots of pictures, both of you and Mercury, and many of family members I never had the chance to meet. I am not certain what to do with your baby and toddler pictures. They bring me such joy and such sorrow. I will hang some of them on the wall. I will put others into albums. For right now, I feel somewhat frozen, and they will just have to sit in a box on the dining room table. Ravi, you had the greatest smile.

I am dreading Mother’s Day. I have never had a Mother’s Day without you. I will go visit you in the chapel and then your dad and I will do something to honor you. If you have any way of getting in touch with Mercury, please tell them that they are loved and missed.

Right now, it is cold, grey day. I am snuggling with the animals. It should feel more like spring this weekend. I will plant some flowers in your memory. In the meantime, I love you. Fly high, sweet boy.

Six Months

My darling Boo Bear, it has been six months since you left us. Today is Friday, April 11. You left us on Friday, October 11. I go back in forth in my mind, was that the worst day of my life, or was the worst day of my life the day of your funeral? Maybe it is a tie. Your daddy and I will live with the memories of those two days forever.

I visit you every Sunday at church, but I know you spirit resides out in the wide world. You have started coming to me in dreams, and it is such a blessing! Friends from all over the country are texting me to tell me that they say you as a cardinal, or a beautiful monarch butterfly. Yesterday, I was walking at the nature preserve with a friend. A beautiful male cardinal flew out in front of us. He seemed very happy to be bopping about, taking little flights from tree to tree. This is the first cardinal I have seen since you passed, though others have seen them often. It was so good to see you!

Today is a tough day, but I am glad you are flying free, in a space where there is no pain or fear, cancer or epilepsy. Your soul has left your body. All that is left is memories, and sightings of cardinals and monarch butterflies. That will have to be enough.

I have submitted my book, Not Your Ordinary Autism Book, to Abbey, in hopes that she can find us a publishing company. She says this is her busy season, but she will keep in touch. I want your story to go out to the world, not just locked in the memories of those who loved you.

I have not been running at all since you passed. Your father and I have walked hundreds of miles; walking, meditating, looking at the sky for signs of you, grieving. I think I will go for a run either today or tomorrow. It may not be pretty but is has been such an essential part of my life since I was 13, that I think I should try it again. Even if it is only a mile or two or running/walking, that would be okay. I feel that I need to do this for you.

Today is a dark, overcast day, but the sun is predicted to come out later. I am going for a walk with a friend early this afternoon. We will look for signs of you. After that, I will try a brief run. Your daddy will be out at the glider field tomorrow, polishing the gliders and getting ready for the soaring season. This makes him happy, and me happy.

I don’t really know where this blog is going, Ravi, but know that I love you deeply and fiercely. I miss you more than words can express. Fly free, my love, and I will look for you in the cardinals and the butterflies.