Tag: health

Farewell Floor 5

Dear Ravi,

Daddy was talking to a former employee on Floor 5 at Masonic Children’s Hospital. Do you remember the hospital, or was that part of your life blissfully erased from your memory? We spent weeks, sometimes months there. Floor 5 was the oncology floor. If one had to be in the hospital, it was not a bad place. The corridors were wide and airy. There was a playroom and an exercise room. Nurses, aids, doctors, and therapists were always popping in and out. We could keep the door open and hear all the chatter in the hallways. Your door was adorned with stickers by the nurses and had a large window in it. When you were feeling up to it, we could take you and your IV pole and walk laps. 6 laps around the ward made one mile. You were usually good for 1 or 2 laps, passing the nurses at their stations who cheered you on. There were daily visits from therapy dogs and a family room with snacks and a coffee maker. Now, do you remember Floor 4? I hope that you do not. I wish that I could erase it from my memory. Floor 4 was the isolation ward. One could not keep the door open without an alarm going off after 2 minutes. There was not a window in the door. It was like being placed in solitary, or on the dark side of the moon. We were cut off from everything. We were only on that floor a few times, until they could find us a room on Floor 5, where you belonged. One could not even keep food in the room on Floor 4 and there as no family room, no sense of community.

Anyway, on to the gossip. The employee I mentioned earlier said that 2 of your favorite nurses had retired after 35 years of service and that the oncology floor had been moved down to Floor 4. This move had been loudly protested by all the nurses, doctors, and aids on Floor 5. No one wanted to move, and their reasons to stay put were good. Easier patient access, a strong and thriving team, patients were much happier there. Sadly, their protests were ignored by administration and the move went forward. Many nurses and several doctors resigned and found jobs elsewhere. The comradery and never say never spirit of the floor was killed off in one fell swoop. Sweetheart, I am so glad this did not happen when we were at Masonic. I will never say that a hospital is autism or sensory friendly, but Floor 5 was as close as I have ever seen. Even though your visits stretched to over a month at times, you never seemed to mind being there. You liked the doctors and adored the nurses. Floor 4 was sheer misery. You are a social creature, even under the harshest of chemotherapies, and you loved your interactions with the nurses. Without a doubt, they were some of the finest nurses that I have ever seen. On Floor 4 nurses only came in to check on you every few hours and never stayed. On Floor 5 nurses and aids popped in and out all day, sometimes to check on you, other times just to visit. We had a keyboard in our room and I could practice piano. The familiar music soothed you and people passing in the hallway often paused to listen.

Ravi, do you remember Masonic? It was 22 months of your short life. We met nurses that I will always admire and pray for. I hope you remember their love for you. I hope that you do not remember the harsh chemotherapies, the kidney failure, the nausea and the pain. Let Mommy hold those memories for you. You can put them down. You are free from hospitals, disease and any pain. The comradery and spirit of Floor 5 will always remain in my memory. The nursing staff there was extraordinary. I feel terribly sorry for the children who are cancer patients there now, isolated on Floor 4.

Honey, it is 3:30 am and I have no idea why I am even awake. As always, my muse has her own clock, and she usually wakes up at times where I would rather be asleep. In 4.5 hours, I have to be back at the endodontist office with my silly tooth. I am taking Tylenol and Ibuprofen around the clock, but the tooth is still throbbing. If the infection does not clear up, I may have to go inpatient for IV antibiotics. I would greatly like to avoid this. Home is where my heart is, with the dogs, cat, and hedgehog. With Daddy, my books and journal and laptop. Does heaven keep time, or is always a bright, shiny new morning, brimming with possibility? I pray that your possibilities are endless and you are experiencing nothing but joy. I miss you and love you, Mom.

The Terrible Tooth, Part Two

Dear Ravi,

Yesterday was a long day. I spent 3 hours in a dentist’s chair. As you know, the root canal I had last week decided to kick off an infection. I am so glad that you never had to have a root canal. Obviously, it you had to have one, I would have it done under full sedation. Anyway, I staggered back into the endodontist office yesterday. A pair of wonderful dentists took all the packing out of the tooth, washed it down, packed the tooth with medicine and filled it back up again with a temporary crown. To say the least, it was not fun. I returned home with a mouth packed full of gauze and drooling enough to make any basset hound proud. It was not my finest moment. I was in bed by 8pm and slept over 13 hours.

It is a cool rainy day outside. No birds at the feeder yet, though we did have some customers yesterday. I am not planning to do much today. My pain level has dropped from an 8 out of 10 to about a 3 or a 4, which is a relief. I still have no interest in food. It is a good day just to stay home, read, and cuddle the pets. I have another appointment tomorrow at 8am to recheck the tooth. We have already cancelled our trip to Virginia. I really wanted to visit the Agans this week, but I am afraid that the tooth will flare up again. As I have state insurance, I cannot be seen by any provider who is outside of Minnesota. Being stuck in rural Virginia with an unhappy infected tooth does not seem like a wise idea. The dentist said he would write me a letter for the airline, hoping that we can exchange our tickets for the week of Thanksgiving.

Sweet boy, I am so glad that you had good teeth. Unlike Mercury, you did not need braces. With a few exceptions, your teeth were strong and healthy. You had excellent dental providers, and anything major was done at the hospital under general sedation. I never would have put you through any dental pain. You suffered enough with epilepsy and osteosarcoma. I wish you were with me to cuddle right now. We would hang out together under your fleece blanket and watch videos on Sam, or just chat. I miss those moments deeply. You often come to me in my dreams. You don’t have Sam with you, nor do you use mouth words, but you are always bright and happy. I don’t think that mouth words are needed in heaven. Do you remember how I used to play Pink Floyd for you when you were in my belly? And how I would play it for you when you were tiny and it always calmed you down? I wish you were here, but I know that you are someplace far better. Love you forever. Mom.

The Terrible Tooth

Dear Ravi,

Like you, mom does not like dental procedures. Autistic people find dentists terrifying. Dentists put their fingers in your mouth. The drills sound like fingernails on a chalkboard and feel about as bad. One is tipped into weird positions in the dental chair, and feels trapped. In short, not fun. A while ago, Mommy chipped a pre-molar tooth. I could not find any dental office that would take my state insurance. I finally happened upon the University of Minnesota School of Dentistry. I had an appointment last Wednesday. A very nice and gentle dental student named Jason discovered that I needed a root canal. I was very worried about that, but he told it that the procedure would not be that bad and he would use lots of anesthesia. Thursday afternoon I rolled in to have the root canal done. Besides having a dental dam and a bite block in my mouth for 2 hours, it was not terrible. I was discharged, told to take alternating Ibuprofen and Tylenol for pain and given an emergency number to call if things got worse. Jason said I was a great patient and that he would see my Monday afternoon for a cleaning.

As you know, last weekend was your second heavenly anniversary. I was not at all focused on my tooth. That night we had a lovely evening with Lauren, Andrew, and baby Cora. I was noticing a fair amount of pain. Going to the bathroom to look for painkillers, I glanced in the mirror and nearly jumped a foot in the air. I looked like a stroke victim. The left half of my face was swollen and frozen and my lip drooped down. I looked like Donald Trump. Eew! I showed myself to Daddy who agreed that things did not look good. I spent the night icing my jaw and taking pain relief. Nothing helped. I called the emergency dental number only to be told that it was out of order. Around 5am, wracked with pain, I called the nurse line. She was very nice but told me since I had been seen by dentist, she could not help me. She gave me another emergency number to call which did not work, either. I was beyond frustrated. At 8am I started calling the dental clinic. I kept being put on hold and after 15 minutes the call would roll over to voice mail, where I had already left 2 messages. Daddy suggested that we just walk in and say that I was having a dental emergency and see if they could help. I had a 1:15 pm appointment but knew I could not last that long. The pain was on a level only slightly below passing a kidney stone or giving birth.

We arrived at the clinic and ran into the most unhelpful desk attendant. She claimed that the emergency number was working just fine, I had a 1:15 pm appointment, she would leave a message for Jason, but that was all she would do. I was almost in tears. Daddy was as fed up as I was, and we walked down the street to the Emergency Room. Amazingly, it was mostly empty. I was taken in triage in less than 10 minutes. The nurse was very kind. I was not running a temperature, probably due to all the pain killers, but I was having chills. My vitals were stable. 10 minutes later we were seen by a young medical student. He was also very kind. He examined me, could see signs of infection, and offered some stronger pain killers. I accepted. At this point, my memories are very fragmented. I remember being on a bed and having an IV of narcotics and an antibiotic. Two hours later we were discharged. I was in little pain but very wobbly. From there, Daddy and I went to pick up my meds from the pharmacy, he grabbed a bite to eat, and we headed back to the dental clinic.

At the clinic, Nathan was very concerned. Even though all of his work had been overseen and approved by a senior dentist he felt terrible. He whisked us down a floor to endodontics and ran a scan. Looking at the scan was really interesting. I could see my teeth in 3 D. Under one pre- molar was a large dark shape. I asked Nathan and his attending what it was. They told me that the black area was all infection and that they were going to drain it. Ravi, even though I really dislike narcotics, I was happy to have them on board right then. I had absolutely no fear. It was great! They numbed me up, cut an incision in the gum and drained the canal. As the pus was draining, I felt almost instant relief. Whee! The two of them sent a very wobbly mama home with a number to the attending dentist’s direct line. She said to text her immediately if anything went wrong.

Ravi, it is now 3am on Wednesday and the pain is back. I am taking pain relief, but not narcotics because I hate feeling stupid, icing my jaw and writing to you. Sweet boy, I know how often dental pain is discounted in the autistic population because many of us, certainly including you, cannot explain where things hurt. We just know that something bad is going on. Also, often being people pleasers, we don’t want to raise a fuss. To all autistic people and their parents out there, please raise a fuss. Dental pain is no joke, and if your child is like Ravi or me, they may have a freaky high pain tolerance. I know that finding autism friendly dentistry can be really hard, but please try, for your own sake, or the sake of your child. Dental problems will not resolve on their own, they only get worse.

So, Ravi, here I sit at 3am. I have cat on my lap and dogs at my feet. I am icing my jaw. At 7am I will text the nice dentist who gave me her direct line and ask for help again. I just hope that this does not mess up our trip to Virginia on Saturday. Nathan thought that this would not be a problem, but this was on Monday when I was actually responding to pain killers. I hope that there are no dental emergencies in heaven, Ravi. I hope and trust that you will never be in pain again. I will keep you posted about what happens today. Love you forever, Mom.

One Month Out

Dear Ravi,

I am now a month out from surgery and feeling better. I don’t need trekking poles to walk anymore, and I can walk one dog at a time by myself. This is nice as I am not so tied into daddy’s schedule and can take off whenever I chose. I walked 3.5 miles with a friend today, and 5 miles on Monday. I am slow but gradually gaining strength and speed. In 12 days, I will go see the surgeon and hopefully get to leave the cervical spine brace behind. I will also find out what activites I can do and what activies from which I must refrain. I have no idea if I can ever run again. As to the brace, it is hot and cumbersome, and I am tired of sleeping in it. It is doing a very good job protecting my spine, but I want to be able to drive again. I have things lined up to do when I get this brace off. I am going to go for a drive in my car and listen to 80’s music, like we used to do. I am going to the salon and getting a haircut and a facial. Then, Pam and I are going soaring with daddy. Hopefully, I will be able to look sideways again, without rotating my entire body. Lots of things to look forward to.

It is hot today and supposed to be even warmer tomorrow. If I am going to do any walking, I will have to get up early. Raya does not like the heat at all. Jack Jack can tolerate it. Gloria just charges on through, but I am careful to walk her at cooler times of the day. Nikki and Catherine are seeking out parts of the house that are in the shade.

I spent an hour today talking to Jenn, my bereavement peer mentor. She lost her son Zach to osteosarcoma about 5 years ago. She is encouraging me to become a peer mentor. I am not quite ready to do this, but I would like to help other bereaved parents. After you lose a child to cancer, your entire vocabulary changes, your interests change, your priorities change. I just want to be a kind person in a world that is often random, callous and cruel. Since it is Sarcoma awareness month, I am spending the entire month putting Osteosarcoma on blast. I am still an autism advocate and always will be, but autism is not nearly as lethal as osteosarcoma. Jenn and I doubt that there will be a cure in our lifetime, but we will keep fighting and advocating for better resources and outcomes. For my readers, I will continue to put forth this link so you can help us with better resources and hopefully, one day, a cure. Every little bit helps.

https://osinst.org/herndon-fundraiser

Today, my coach Dave Coyne is celebrating his second birthday in heaven. He would have been 70 years old today. His running club misses him here on earth, but I am certain that you and Joyce are having a wonderful time with him in heaven. Please pray for your Uncle Rob. He is recovering well from his latest surgery, but his last scan was rather grim. He is still working, mostly from bed, but he gets up every day and continues. I am in awe of his fortitude.

It is 5:04 pm and the animals are telling me that it is dinner time. There is kitty chow, dog chow, and bugs to be served. Some things never change. My love for you will never change. See you on the flip side. Mom.

I Saw You!

Dear Ravi,

Daddy and I were out walking yesterday afternoon. Due to my neck and back problems, he walks the dogs and I man the trekking poles. Anyway, we were strolling down Summit Avenue and there was a male cardinal sitting on a lawn! I stopped and waved; you hopped about a bit, cocked your head and flew into a nearby shrub. Seeing you, in bird form, absolutely made my day. Your two trees are doing really well. I am thinking of adding a bird bath to the backyard in hoping to attract more of your feathered friends. What do you think?

My cervical spinal fusion is set for June 9, but I am at the top of the waiting list in case anyone ahead of me cancels. I don’t want to deprive anyone of their surgery, trust me, no one does back surgery just for fun, but I would really like to get this over with and start healing. There are different kinds of pain. There is the pain of healing after a major surgery and there is the pain of your body not being able to do anything that it wishes. I know that you are acutely aware of both pre- and post-surgical pain. If I could have gone through those surgeries for you, I would have done it in a heartbeat.

Right now, Daddy is out a lunch with Daniel, and I am hanging out with the pets. It is a rather low action scene. Your Uncle Rob is being released from the hospital today to a rehab facility where he can regain his strength and mobility. Fortunately, the rehab center is only half a mile from home, so family can easily visit him. Still, he has been in the hospital for nearly 2 weeks. As we both know that it is a very long time. I am so grateful that I will only be in the hospital for one night following my surgery. It is so much easier to sleep and recover at home. I left out several bags of clothes donations for the Epilepsy Foundation today. I did not touch any of your clothes. They still hang in your closet or lie in your dresser. To donate your clothes would make me feel like I was giving you away and I cannot bring myself to do it. I will take your courage quilt and your prayer shawl to the hospital so I can keep you close to me.

When Daddy returns from lunch we will take the dogs for a leisurely walk. Perhaps I will see you again! In the meantime, and forever, I love you to the moon and back. Mom.

Cardinals and fusions and walks, oh my!

Dear Ravi,

Thank you for stopping by yesterday. Daddy and I were out walking the dogs and you were sitting in a nearby tree. You fluffed out your feathers, sang a few notes, then did a few aerials maneuvers. Obviously, you were having a great day. Seeing you always lifts our hearts.

Lots going on here. Remember back in 2019 when I had a spinal fusion and was really boring for a while? Well, another one is on the docket. The previous fusion, C4 through C7 is still in good shape. The problem is that C3 and C4 are most unhappy. There is not disc in that space, bone is lying on bone, and this has caused a myriad of weird neurological problems. For months, the neurosurgeon I had been seeing kept telling me that there was nothing he could do to help me. I saw a new doctor yesterday who confirmed that something was really wrong and offered me a plan forward. He will fuse C3 and C4 together, thus getting rid of the nerve pain. Obviously, this won’t happen overnight, this is going to be the summer of recovery, but I feel better knowing that I have a plan in place. Right now, I cannot turn my head, my hands are numb, and my balance leaves something to be desired. In short, I would flunk a field sobriety test. So, until at least late July, I will not be driving. When I go for walks, I will use my trusty trekking poles. I am trying to convince the animals not to run under my feet as I have an absolute phobia about tripping and falling.

Please pray for your Uncle Rob. He has two surgeries coming up, next Monday and next Tuesday. The surgeon will embolize his tumor and then recreate his hip and femur. He is such a great guy and was a wonderful uncle to you. We pray that God will guide the surgeon’s hands and lead him into recovery.

Right now, all is quiet. The pets are asleep at my feet. I feel better knowing that I have a plan for my cervical spine. Daddy is still snoozing. Your trees outside are blooming. I love you forever, Mom.

Got passed by a slow moving snail

Dear Ravi,

Your trees are blooming and very happy. Raya is doing a good job chasing the bunnies away from them. It is about 65 F and sunny outside. Great day for dog walking. More on that in a bit, it was a very slow walk. On Friday, the pain in my cervical spine reached intolerable levels and I called the nurse help line. She listened to my symptoms; inability to turn my head, numbness in my hands, loss of coordination and off the charts pain. She sent me directly to Urgent Care. For once, I got a female physician who actually listened to me, ran a bunch of tests, and did not dismiss my symptoms. She sent me off for an emergency MRI, even though I had had one back in early March. The MRI shows considerable changes. I have neck pain and head pain, bilateral hand numbness, a history of fusion, cervical myelopathy and stenosis, and hypereflexia. As she put it, “You have a lot going on.” She prescribed a course of steroids and Lyrica, which is a step up from Gabapentin. The only thing I really notice from the meds is that I feel really stupid. At least the Lyrica helps me sleep, and hopefully the steroids are reducing the inflammation. For obvious reasons, I did not make it to church yesterday. I was supposed to teach Sunday School and was very sad to miss it.

I convinced Daddy that I needed a slow dog walk today, just to get outside and feel the sun on my face. It was a super slow walk. I think I got lapped by a snail. The dogs and the kitty think that I am very boring. I feel very boring. My thoughts feel like molasses in January. I am really hoping that the surgical consult on Thursday will give me a road map forward. Dr Hutter, who saw me on Friday, looked at my past notes and said that she was going to make certain that my medical team would do better. It is always nice to feel validated.

On a brighter note, I got a haircut and left at least 6 inches of hair on the salon floor. I feel much lighter and freer. Previous to this, I was feeling like a mop wearing running shoes. I also went over to visit Pam and sit in the sun with her and her dog. Driving home I realized that I should not be on the road. My dear 2009 Ford Fusion does not have back up cameras, and I cannot turn my head to see where the traffic is. As of now, Daddy is the driver for the family. He is happy because he got out to the airfield yesterday and hopes to go t0morrow. It always lifts my spirits to know that he is doing something that he loves. Please pray for your Uncle Rob who is having major surgery next week. The surgeon will embolize the tumor in his hip and femur and then rebuild it. He will be in the hospital for about a week and then possibly in a rehabilitation facility after that. The major prayer right now is that the hip and femur to not collapse on their own, as the tumor has eaten away about 90 percent of them. He is using a walker to get around and just had a chair lift put in on the stairs.

I have not seen any cardinals lately, but Karen sent me pictures of one hanging out in her backyard for Hannah’s 30th birthday. Of course I did not see you, you were at the party! To know that you are flying free and having fun always lifts my spirits. Soar high my son, know that I love you forever. Mom.

Nothing makes sense

Dear Ravi,

I deeply believe that things make more sense in heaven than they do on earth. Honestly, earth is more than a bit nuts right now. Washington is on fire and our country is being laughed at by the rest of the world. I am certain that you know all of this, so I will not elaborate.

Your trees are blooming and the daffodils are very proud of themselves. Everything is green and the earth smells good. Taking daily dog walks is the only way to ground myself right now. I was handed a disappointment yesterday. I was scheduled for a steroid injection into my C spine this morning. Late yesterday I found out that my new health plan had not given prior authorization, so the procedure was canceled. The clinic apologized and said they would schedule me as soon as possible as soon as MA approved it. In the meantime, I am on hold, metaphorically and physically. I am hoping that this injection helps. You never complained about your pain, and I will not complain about mine, but a little medical help would be appreciated.

In a few weeks I will be helping to represent the Gather program of St. Clement’s at AUSM’s Steps of Hope. We will be talking to interested parents about our autism and sensory friendly services. It is also a good chance to see what services are currently available in the Twin Cities. In the past I have found such events focused mostly on boys with autism and early intervention. As you know, services tend to vanish after one ages out of the system at age 18 or 21. Though I believe that early intervention is crucial, I wish there were a greater focus on autistic individuals with higher support needs and females. In your name, I will continue to reach out and advocate.

Please pray for your uncle Rob and your Aunt Cindy. They need a miracle. We all are unanimous that cancer really stinks! You, Rob, and countless others all know this. I never wanted to wave a magic wand to take away your autism. I tried to make your world a better place, accepting that autism is just as much a part of you as it is of me. BUT! If I could have that magic wand for a just a moment, I would banish cancer forever.

Not everything is grim. Spring is here. I have brunch and walks planned with friends. I continue to advocate for inclusive places for individuals with autism. I continue to tell your story. You are always on my mind and in my heart. Love you forever. 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.