Tag: faith

A prayer, a guttural groan

Dear Ravi,

Today was the last day of Youth Formation. I have watched my little group grow and learn so much since last September. I will miss the kids and the other formation teachers. Spending Sunday mornings with them and then going to services gets my week off to a perfect start. There has been a lot of action at the Capitol this week, mostly about preventing gun violence. The gun violence prevention act sailed through the Senate, but got hung up in the House, with a certain Republican leader who refused to hold a vote. Lawmakers, parents, teachers, and those affected by gun violence staged a 36 hour sit in, never once leaving the Capitol. To the best of my knowledge, a vote has yet to be taken and the term ends at midnight tonight. I am holding the students and parents of Ascension Catholic School in my heartfelt prayers. Their lives were destroyed on August 27 when a lone gunmen waged mayhem on these children, teachers, and parents who had assembled for mass. As long as I have taught in Catholic schools, I have always told my students that is something bad were to occur, run to the church, where Jesus would hold them safe. For 29 years I firmly believed that church meant sanctuary. On August 27, 2025, my words were made a lie. That day, my friend Roberta and I fled to the green at St Clement’s, because we felt it was the only place that could hold our grief. For hours, we held vigil. I don’t know if it helped or not. Two children were slaughtered; many more were injured. Scores of students and teachers still hold trauma and shrapnel in their bones. Ravi, my voice cries out to heaven, when will this end? Can God recognize my guttural cry as a kind of prayer? It is a beautiful day today, perfect for going on walks with dogs or riding bikes. You cannot do that anymore and sometimes I rage at God. People tell me that my faith is so strong, but like Job, I am crying out in my grief and in my brokenness. Please tell me you are somewhere where everything is full of mercy, justice, forgiveness and truth.

On a different note, your Uncle Rob is recovering well from his two surgeries and should transfer to a rehabilitation facility tomorrow. Please keep him and your Aunt Cindy in your prayers. They have had a really long week!

I just left a note for my surgeon’s nurse in My Chart. My balance is completely off, and I have numbness in all 4 extremities. I really do not want to wait another 23 days until surgery. I am in pain, my body does not want to work, and I make a lousy couch potato. Does this sound familiar? Both you and I hated sitting still. There are too many interesting things in the world to explore and discover. You were so patient and kind all through the 22 months of your illness. I will try to use try to model myself after you. You were brave even when cancer gave you so many reasons to lose hope. Ravi, I miss you in ways that words cannot begin to express. I am dreading June, a month which holds your birthday and your Mercury’s as well. In my heart you are always 22. “My words fly up, my thoughts remain below, words without thoughts to heaven ne’er shall go.” Macbeth was correct. Lady Macbeth was also correct, “Hell is murky.” I feel that our entire world is murky right now. There is little sanctity for life, be it in Minneapolis or Gaza. Again, I let loose a guttural groan at the sky. Please know that I love you and Mercury, wherever you both may be. I hold you both deep in my heart and my soul. Fly free my son, Mom.

19 months

Dear Ravi,

I meant to write to you two days ago, but our internet was down. I thought of you, as I am always thinking of you, on the May 11th, 19 months after you left us. Today I am thinking of our dear cousin Joyce, who was an unstoppable force of nature. Today, she is celebrating her 11th anniversary in heaven. I am positive that you and she are running around heaven with a pile of pets causing “good trouble”.

The dogs have been raising a lively racket this morning as the internet technician has been in and out of the house numerous times. The cat has decamped and probably will not come out until dinner. He is a peace loving creature, except when he decides to ambush Jack Jack who then screams dramatically. At any rate, we have internet services again, but at a much higher rate than we did a few days ago.

Your Uncle Rob has come through both of his surgeries, but not without a lot of pain and an Addison’s crash. The surgeon reported that there was not much left of his his femur, it was more like a wet sponge than a bone. The tumor had also grown significantly since his last scan, 3 weeks ago. Please continue to pray for his healing. Pray for calm and strength for your Aunt Cindy.

I am moving slowly today but looking forward to a walk with a friend. Like us, he is very peripatetic and thinks best on his feet. We can walk and talk for hours. Often, our conversations are about autism and advocacy. We both feel strongly that there is not enough attention given to adults with severe autism. People seem to forget that autism lasts a lifetime, one does not age out of it at 22 when services end. One does not ride away from their struggles on a magical unicorn. The struggles continue and usually only the direct families see it. Caretakers are lauded for being “brave” or “self-sacrificing” but are never given a break or the slightest semblance of respite. I was planning on going to AUSM Steps of Hope this Sunday to advocate for better services, but my neck is not letting me drive anywhere so I will go to my last day of Sunday School instead. I loved teaching Youth Formation this year and definitely plan to do it again in the fall, as well as working on the Gather committee. In these ways, I will honor your memory. I am also thinking of doing a fundraiser for the Osteosarcoma Institute on your 24th birthday. I will ask people to donate $24 in your memory and do something kind for someone else. I got this idea from Jen and Jon, who did a very similar thing to celebrate what would have been Zack’s 21st birthday. Since I got a haircut that day, I tipped my stylist 21% in his honor.

I am on the surgery waiting list in case an opening comes up before June 11th. My goal before then is to keep my body in as good shape as possible so hopefully my recovery will be a non-issue. All I remember from my last surgery was that I slept a lot, and you and Gloria thought that I was really boring! Sending you and Joyce all of my love. Hug Rosie for me, as well Sadie and all the other pets we have loved and lost. Love you forever, Mom.

Happy Mother’s Day!

Dear Ravi,

This is my second attempt at a blog. I was just about to post a letter to you an hour ago when I lost my WIFI connection and poof! the blog was gone. Right then, daddy came in from the airfield with a dozen red roses for me. I am feeling very loved. Mother’s Day hits a bit different when you have lost a child, when you are estranged from a child, or both. I am absolutely overwhelmed by the number of cards, letters, notes, and gifts that I have received today. It is a complete outpouring of love. I got to talk to Jenn, my bereavement peer who wished me a “Happy F’ing Mother’s Day”, and we talked about how weird it is that you and Zack are no longer here, but we are certain that you are having a much better time in heaven. We imagined the two of you running around, eating candy, crushing on pretty girls, going to favorite places, and causing good trouble with Cousin Joyce. She is one of the few moms I can really go deep with because she intimately knows what it is like to lose a child to osteosarcoma. This is the club that no parent wants to belong to.

I clearly remember my first mother’s day. We took you to church and all the moms got flowers and a special blessing. I was so happy to be your mom and nothing can ever take away that joy. Last year I planted lots of flowers in the garden. Planting is not in the cards for me right now, due to my neck instability and the neuropathy in my hands and feet. I am hiring Daniel’s nephew to come over, pull up weeds and spread out mulch for me later this week. I love to garden but I will have to let someone else do all the work this summer. I will continue to baby my indoor plants and water your trees.

Daddy spent today out at the airfield as FOO but did not get to fly. Hopefully, he can fly later this week. I definitely want to go up in a glider this summer, but it will have to wait until late July or early August, when I am recovered enough from surgery not to wear a brace. It sounds strange to be looking forward to surgery, but I am. Surgery will hopefully fix the instability and cure the neuropathy. After my last fusion there was some post-surgical discomfort, but it was outweighed tremendously by how much better I felt almost immediately. My first thought was that I could wiggle my toes and feel all my extremities, so I knew that the surgery was successful.

Please pray for your Uncle Rob. He is having 2 major surgeries in the next 2 days. Steady the surgeons’ hands, let them successfully embolize his tumor and then rebuild his femur and hip. He should be in the hospital for about a week, and then possibly in a rehab facility after that. My God’s holy presence sit with Cindy as she waits for news from the surgeon. May God be with your cousins Aaron and Robbie. I will be lighting lots of candles and praying without ceasing tomorrow. As always, April and Rick will be joining us in prayer. I am convinced that they have a direct pipeline to God.

I wonder what Mercury is doing today and if they miss you. They never showed up for you during your illness, so I have my doubts. The people in life that show up during hardships, illnesses, and crises as the ones that you always want around you. Blood does not make you family. People that hold you in prayer and hold you in their arms are the ones that truly matter. You were blessed by so many loving people in your short life, and these same people continue to show up for Daddy and for me. We will always be grateful.

The dogs are running around the backyard. Nikki is crashed out at my feet after playing with his new catnip mouse. Raya is hanging out with daddy. Both Jenn and I agree that we have to have a houseful of pets. We thrive on the noise and the furry chaos. This is going to be a short blog as my mind is thinking one thing to write and my hands are doing something completely different. I have the feeling I will not be doing a lot of letters of query this summer as I cannot coordinate my mind and my fingers. It is a beautiful day outside. I know that you and Zack are running free where there is no fear, pain or cancer. Someday, I will hold you in my arms again. In the meantime, I will keep telling your story. I will advocate for autism and osteosarcoma. I will fight for better outcomes. I love you to the moon and back. Mom.

Happy Earth Day!

Dear Ravi,

Happy Earth Day! It is a beautiful sunny day outside. A good day to walk the dogs. On our walk yesterday we saw a beautiful male cardinal. I know it was you just dropping in to say hi. I greeted you. You sat in a tree near me, cocked your head and began to sing. Literally, I had goosebumps. It was good to see you. I miss you. Your trees are shyly putting forth buds, the daffodils are blooming and the jonquils are popping up to say hello. It has been a long dark winter, but spring in definitely here, and Minnesotans rejoice.

Lots going on here. I think I have the insurance snafu settled. Apparently, I have MA, just like you did. I have rescheduled all my doctor appointments. It feels good to be out of PHP, I was not meant to stay in one room all day long. It was very helpful, but one month was more than enough. I was planning on returning to work as a nanny until a few days ago. I came to the realization that my body is too tired and run down to be a nanny or a PCA anymore. I am talking to a lawyer tomorrow about possibly qualifying for SSDI. Besides the severe enduring anorexia, my back and neck are very unhappy with me. There are some days that I can walk for miles and get lots done. There are other days I can’t even drive myself to church. I have a steroid injection into my cervical spine in a few weeks, which I hope will help. This is only a short-term solution. Repeated use of steroids causes bone density to diminish, and I can’t run that risk. Sigh, I guess your mom is getting old. Still, I have many things to be grateful for. Since it is hard for me to drive, your daddy drove me to and from PHP for a month. We are surrounded by caring and loving friends. I rejoice in the days that I can get outside and move my body. I was blessed with 22 years of being able to love you. That is the greatest blessing of all.

Happy Earth Day in heaven, my love. I miss you more than words can express. I know that you are running free with Cousin Joyce. Please keep coming to me as a cardinal. Love you to the moon and back. Mom.

The People Who Live in Darkness Shall See a Great Light

Dear Ravi,

Alleluia, the Lord is Risen! Christ is Risen, indeed. Alleluia!

Last night, in a darkened church, those words rang out, and suddenly we were surrounded by a great light. The Great Vigil began in darkness, punctuated only by candlelight. The readers and cantors took us on a long journey through Old Testament readings, from Adam and Eve, to Moses, to Jonah in the belly of the whale. The readings spanned the ages from the beginnings of time until the glorious resurrection. Bells rang out and the lights went up to celebrate the Resurrection. Ravi, it was a glorious service, my very favorite of the church year. What could be timelier for this broken world than a service that begins in darkness and ends in light and chiming bells?

Ravi, death does not have the final word. I firmly believed this. On October 11, 2024, you shed your earthly body and entered into something much better. Though we grieve you deeply, we know that you are in better hands than ours. You have joined so many dear friends and relatives. Indeed, you are dancing with Jesus. You have left your frail body behind and have joined the ranks of those who have gone before. I am certain that you and Joyce are running about heaven causing “good trouble”, along with John Lewis.

Just yesterday I noticed that the daffodils I had planted in the side yard are coming up. Our crocus in pots on the porch survived a 12-inch snowstorm and are bravely sticking up green shoots. Meteorological spring arrived a few weeks ago, but Minnesota is slow to pick up the message. This too, is a story as old as time. Right now, I am sitting in the pre-dawn darkness. I have coffee at the ready and pets at my feet. Soon, I will shower, wake up your Daddy and return to church for another celebratory service. As always, we will slip downstairs and visit you. When Joy interred your ashes she said, “This is not Ravi, he is not here.” She is absolutely correct. The grave cannot contain you. Though we visit you often in the chapel/columbarium, your soul is not there. I sense you in the singing birds, the soft caress of breeze on my face, in the giggles of children during the service and the pitter patter of little feet. So, my dear, from my heat to yours, we wish you are joyous Easter. I love you forever, Mom.

The Great Silence

Dear Ravi,

Good morning, my love! Welcome to the Great Silence. It has been quite the week at St. Clements. On Wednesday night the Gather group had an intergenerational, autism/sensory friendly meal and service where we walked the participants through the final days of Jesus’ life. As you may have noticed, we ended the service in the chapel. During Holy Week, there was a labyrinth on the floor. Many pilgrims came and walked it, pacing and praying. I found it to be an excellent place to pray, walk, and to be near you. On Maundy Thursday we had our Last Supper, and the elements were transported into the Nave, the room of repose, to lie there in rest. The organ was closed and parishioners left in silence. Last night was Good Friday, where the Passion was chanted and we recalled the last few hours of Jesus’ life. Tonight is one of the holiest nights of the year, Holy Saturday. The service begins at 8pm and ends between 11pm and midnight. There are readings from both the old and the New Testament. The service begins in utter darkness. Gradually light begins to return to the chancel. Candles are lit. Joy begins to rise. We end with a mighty Alleluia, Christ is risen! This joy surges through the entire church and catches everyone up in its wake. It is truly a miraculous service.

Today, I am keeping to myself. Christ is in the tomb, buried. His disciples have given up all hope. It is a day of prayer and introspection. April sent me a women’s prayer book yesterday. I will spend today praying and thinking about death and resurrection. I will be thinking of you. I thought a lot about Mary last night. She stood at the cross and watched her son die. He was released into her arms. She held him and birth, and she held him in death. From one mother to another, I feel her grief.

Next Saturday is an all-day writing workshop. I get to spend 9 hours honing my craft and talking to other writers. I have an agent pitch, as well. Right now, I am trying to fold your story into a 10-minute pitch that will hopefully piqué an agent’s curiosity. My love, how do I cram your life into 10 minutes? I have a basic outline. Less is better and questions should be left unanswered, hoping that the agent will want more. I think best when I am on my feet, so I will be peripatetic this week. I will walk the dogs, think of you and, and prepare my pitch. Wish me luck.

I will check back in with you on the Easter Sunday. There will be great rejoicing, both in heaven and on earth. In the interim, I will descend into silence. You and Mercury are always in my heart and on my mind. Love, Mom.

A Day Just for Cats

Dear Ravi,

Most of the world is celebrating St. Patrick’s Day today. Nikki and I are celebrating St. Gertrude’s Day. She is the patron saint of cats. I am much more into cats than I am drinking beer and dying large bodies of water green. I am wearing a green sweater today, but I put it on without thinking of what day it is and now I don’t want to take it off because it is cold outside. We got at least a foot of snow over the weekend and now it is bitterly cold. The good news is that it should be in the mid 50s by the end of the week. I would like to say that this is the last of the snow, but we know better, don’t we. April usually has a surprise blizzard for us, just as one final hurrah.

As you know, I dropped in to see you last night. I was at church for our Gather meeting. We are planning an autism and sensory friendly service for Wednesday of Holy Week. We will start out with a simple dinner and the Eucharist at the table, just like Jesus did at the last supper. Then, we will move to different stations around the church as we commemorate the final night and death on the cross of Jesus. We will finish our journey in the chapel/columbarium. As it will not yet be Sunday, we cannot really celebrate the resurrection, but we can pretend what it would be like to find the tomb empty. At the end, we will give each child a box with a coloring sheet inside that says Alleluia, Christ is Risen! The children can open this box, let the Alleluias out and color them on Easter morning. I am very excited about the Gather initiative. There has been so much behind the scenes work in the last year, and now we are finally seeing it come to life. I wish you could be here to celebrate with us, but I know that you are watching us from on high. I wish that you could experience this with us. Our church did not have anything like this when you were young. So, now we do better. The motto of the Episcopal Church is “The Episcopal Church welcomes you.” The mission statement of St. Clement’s is “All are welcome, all are needed.” Do you remember the song that I used to sing to you; all God’s children have a place in the choir? This is our goal, our driving force. At our church, everyone will have a place in the choir, including those who sing without using any words.

Ravi, I miss you, but I think you would be very happy about the work that I am doing for you and for all neurodivergent people like you. You may not walk beside me anymore, but I will always be your advocate. Nikki and I, and all the orange kitties in the world, wish you a blessed St. Gertrude’s Day. If you see a kitty in heaven, and I am certain that there are lots of them, give them a gentle nose boop from me. Love you forever and ever. 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.

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.