Tag: jesus

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.

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.

No Words

Dearest Ravi,

I have no words for what is happening in the Twin Cities. It is appalling, terrifying and completely unjust. ICE has openly taken over the metro area and all other parts of the state. Protesters and passersby are being attacked, shot, pepper sprayed, and taken away. It is not safe to be on the streets. Yet, I am fiercely proud of our state. Minnesotans are standing up and speaking up. Our voice will not be silenced. At church on Sunday we had a church full of immigrants and two beautiful baptisms. It was a day of joy and celebration. Last night we joined a dear friend for dinner at a local Indian restaurant and shared laughter, tears, stories and more. It was life affirming. There are pop up protests all over the twin cities. I went to our usual protest on Friday at Snelling and Summit. I will be going back every week. I carry a whistle everywhere I go, so I can sound an alert if I see anything suspicious. ICE has been in our neighborhood, to all the safe places that we used to go. In a way it feels like Covid and the George Floyd riots all over again. People are in lockdown. Others are storming the streets. Police cars, sirens, helicopters are everywhere. I feel like we have fallen into the Twilight Zone.

I miss you so much, but I also rejoice that you are in heaven and forever safe from all of this madness. I worry for Mercury. I know that they are living in the Twin Cities area. I do not know if they are safe. So near, and yet so far. Complete radio silence from your Aunt Mags, but if she couldn’t be bothered to come to your funeral or even inquire as to where you are interred, we really can’t expect anything much of her. She seems to think she is helping Mercury but in reality, she is driving a deeper wedge between us. If she had any common sense, she would get back on her own yoga mat. Mercury is your sister and our child. We can take care of our own. We do not welcome outside interfence. It is true that Mags has been a lifeline for them, but now she needs to step back. My family of origin is so foreign to me. Their only currency is information and money. They like to control people by using these two things. Your daddy and I refuse to play their game.

Please watch over Mercury and all those in the Twin Cities, particularly those who have skin of a darker color. Remember the children’s hymn, Jesus Loves the Little Children, all the children of the world? It is true. Jesus loves all of he children, but I firmly believe that He is looking down on the discord in the world and weeping for us, with us. I love you to the moon and back. I will be at church on Sunday to say hi, but I carry you in my heart forever. Love, Mom.

October 19, 2024

Dear Ravi,

This was the date that St Clement’s prayed and sang you into heaven. It was a beautiful and heart-breaking service. I go back and forth about which was the worst day of my life. Was it the day you died in my arms, or the day we laid you to rest? I don’t know.

I went to church this morning hoping to feel you. For some reason my hands and feet were freezing. I felt cold all over. Gradually, the sun crept into the church, and as Elizabeth preached, I found myself covered in sunshine. It did not help that much with the cold, but it did make me feel better. So did the prayers, songs, and breaking of the bread. 1782 Ashland Avenue is my home, but the parish, and the chapel where you reside is my home away from home. It is where I seek God, I search for you, where I am joined in fellowship by those I care for deeply.

I went to the chapel after church but could not stay long to talk to you. It seems that there was a meeting about to happen there. People were straggling in, talking to each other, looking at the phones, and I could not really sense you. I put my hand on the door that leads to your niche and offered you a brief blessing. Then, I hurried out until the sunshine.

Yesterday, your daddy and I joined nearly 8 million people across the country in a No Kings March and Rally. It was beautiful, peaceful, and life affirming. Though I am exhausted today, I am very happy that I went. There were speeches, chants, signs, songs, and costumes galore. We listened to the songs, speeches and prayers before marching the streets with thousands of likeminded people. Democracy raised her voice yesterday, Ravi, and was heard. You voted for democracy, and you did not vote in vain. The pendulum will swing the other direction, I just don’t know when. The shutdown drags on, and millions of Americans are worried about health insurance, jobs, feeding their families, the list goes on. But yesterday was a day of hope.

Daddy was hoping to go soaring today, but the winds are too gusty. Instead, we will walk the dogs and remember you. Your two remembrance trees in the backyard are thriving. We put bunny barriers around the trunks to protect them from the ever-hungry rabbits. I will not have bunnies eating your trees! These trees are destined to grow and blossom in your memory. We will protect them at all costs.

My dear son, I miss you deeply. I sensed you yesterday morning at sunrise as clouds were scudding across the newly awakened sky. Your name is on my lips when I arise and when I take my rest. Please offer up a prayer for your sibling, Mercury, I fear that they are suffering economic hardship and potential danger. I want them to know that they can always return home. Our door is open. It may take a miracle to bring Mercury home, but I am always on the lookout for miracles. I also believe that miracles take faith and hard work. In your memory, my love, I continue to work and pray. Ravi, you are in my heart forever. Love, Mom.

Childhood Cancer Awareness Month

Dear Ravi,

I have to admit, I am tapped out. It is only halfway through the month, and I am exhausted. Running the race 2 weekend ago for you was wonderful. I am looking forward to running another 5km, Brave Like Gabe, this weekend. Together, lots of runners are raising money for better outcomes for rare cancers, including osteosarcoma. But more and more people want to hear the story of your cancer journey. Ravi my love, I can happily talk about your life all day long, but I really don’t want to write or chat about the end of your life. We are coming up on the one-year anniversary of your passing and I am too raw, too tired, to share. I am digging deep and doing something unusual for me. I am telling people no. Not forever, but no for right now. Maybe in another year or two I can share your cancer story, but right now I am just trying to put one foot in front of the other.

On a different note, if the church seemed more lively than usual yesterday, there was a good reason! It was the first day of Sunday School. I am happily co-teaching a class of 8 girls, ages 5 through 10. They have amazing enthusiasm and energy. Being around them is a joy. You loved school so I imagine that the noise and clamor of young learners made your heart expand several sizes. St Clement’s is very much alive. After I taught Sunday School I went upstairs for the 10:30 service. Joy preached, using one of your favorite children’s stories, The Runaway Bunny, and it was exactly what I needed to hear. You cannot outrun my love, on either side of the grave, and we cannot outrun the love of God. After the service I retreated downstairs to visit you. Sunday school and the service had taken all of my spoons. It was a relief just to sit in the chapel, relax, and talk to you. Eventually, I emerged and made my way home. Dad and I took several long dog walks. We are thinking of planting a tree in your honor next month. I don’t know what type of tree yet; I will go to the nursery and see which tree calls to me.

Ravi, you visit me so often in my dreams. Interestingly, you do not have Sam, or any other AAC, nor do you need mouth words. You seem perfectly content and happy. There must be other ways of communicating in heaven that we folk on earth cannot even fathom. Please look out for our friends who are going through chemo. You know how hard that journey is. We can both support them in prayer. Sometimes, prayer is all I have to give.

So, this week and the rest of the month is going to be one step at a time. I will run a race for you. I will blog about you. I will spend time with people who knew and loved you. I will try to take care of myself and your dad. I will pray that Mercury will one day reach out. Time is weird. Sometimes, it feels like I haven’t seen you in forever, other times, the months pass in the blink of an eye. Maybe that makes more sense in heaven, too. Not a lot in the world makes sense right now, but my love for you continues forever. Love, Mom.

Ten Months

Dear Ravi,

It has been ten months since you left us. We miss you always and forever. Your daddy and I have taken to walking over to St Clement’s in the evening and sitting on the green. This makes us feel close to you. Before we leave, we always tie a ribbon on the prayer trellis for you and Mercury. Neither of you are ever far from our hearts. The prayer trellis began during Covid. Joy strung up clothes lines around the green, left out a box of ribbons, and invited passersby to offer up a prayer and tie a ribbon on the line. By the end of the pandemic, the green was completely surrounded in a wreath of ribbons. Prayer is a powerful thing. It brings us together when we are feeling lost and alone.

I went to church yesterday and since then have been reflecting on the many different Greek words for love. Love that parents and children have for one another is called storge. Philos is brotherly love. Yesterday in church, I saw a beautiful example of agape, selfless love. I will explain. There is an older woman in a parish who is suffering either from dementia or Alzheimer’s. She is brought to church every Sunday by another elderly woman, maybe a sister or a close friend? She sits near the front of the church and Joy brings the Eucharist to her pew as she is too feeble to walk very far. I was sitting a few rows behind her with Roberta and some choir friends. Joy was offering up the post-Communion prayer. Suddenly, this woman stood up and approached Joy at the altar. Joy did not skip a beat. She continued the prayer and held out her arms to the woman. She embraced her in a caring hug. Elizabeth seamlessly picked up the service where Joy had left off as Joy led this woman back to her pew. Gently, the two of them sat down together and the woman leaned against Joy, trusting as a child, and Joy put her arm over her shoulders and talked softly to her. The rest of the clergy recessed to the back of the church, singing a final hymn. Joy continued to sit there, holding this woman in a soft embrace. They sat there through the organ postlude and as others left the church, talking softly. Truly, Joy was a shepherd, ministering to her flock, and this one sweet lamb in particular who needed pastoral care and the knowledge that she too was loved, included, and accepted. The world must be a very scary place for her, but to her, Joy was a safe person to turn to. This, Ravi, is agape, in it’s truest form. There are many other Greek words for love, but agape and storge are the ones that are foremost in my mind.

I am starting my new job as a direct care support worker tomorrow and I think it will be a really good fit. The young woman whom I will be helping is also a graduate of St. Kate’s, just like Alissa and Lauren. Speaking of St. Kate’s, I had a great dream about you the other night. You were hanging out with the St. Kate’s basketball team, as was one of your preferred activities when Alissa was in school. In the dream you were laughing and having a wonderful time. I woke up smiling. I hope that there are basketball games in heaven. Right now, Nikik is perched on the back of my chair and the dogs are at my feet. They had good walks and runs this morning. I will run over to the church tomorrow, to say hi to you and place two more ribbons in the trellis, sealed with kisses. Love you to the moon and back. Mom.

July??

Dear Ravi,

How is it already July? I blinked and the calendar moved. We spent the 4th July very quietly, as we do not believe that our country has anything to celebrate while our citizens and our immigrants are being oppressed or disappeared. The afternoon of the 4th, I joined Women Against Military Madness on the corner of Summit and Snelling. We chanted and prayed for freedom for Palestine, freedom from war, and freedom for those who are oppressed. It felt good to join people of like minds and speak out freely. We had lots of honks and peace signs from passersby. Luckily, we were in the shade because the heat was oppressive. I will return to this group of peacekeepers every Friday from 4 to 5 pm.

I may have mentioned before, July is both Sarcoma awareness month and child loss month. I am on social media only sporadically and am trying not to doom scroll. It is a slippery slope. Last Sunday, I was happy to leave my phone at home and go to church. I went to the 10:30 service instead of the 8:15, as I was in the mood for music. What a great day to go, the choir sang all my favorite hymns. Despite all the windows being open, the church was stuffy and hot. It was a relief to go down and visit you in the chapel. I sat by niche and talked to you for a long time. We could hear the muffled conversations from coffee hour upstairs, people coming and going. The church is a lively place on Sunday, a good place to be. Your daddy and I will come over later this week, when the church is open and visit you. We walked by on Sunday evening, but it was all locked up.

Ravi, I am at a crossroads. I am feeling the urge to return to the working world. I don’t want to work full time, but 20 to 25 hours a week would be fine. I had a preliminary interview for a tutoring job this morning, and have an interview with Visiting Angels, as caretaking group tomorrow afternoon. What I really want to do is to sell my book and be an author, but I need something to pay the bills in the interim. We shall see what happens. I am not taking a job just to have a job, a job has to have meaning to me, and a decent rate of pay.

The exciting news is that Daddy and I are going to Virginia next week. We are flying into Richmond and spending 3 days with April and Rick and also seeing a childhood friend. Then, we will go see Etta and Denny and family in Fredericksburg for 4 days. It is summer on a farm, and we will be busy. I think Daddy has already been conscripted to drive a tractor. I will slather him with sunscreen, put a big floppy hat on his head and hope that he does not wilt. We will also see Nancy and Red and celebrate the end of her treatment for breast cancer. The visit would not be complete without a stop by my alma mater. Don’t worry about the pets, Chris will take good care of them and the house while we are away.

I suppose you heard about the tragedy in Texas. Your daddy and I are heartbroken. So many people were swept away in the flood. I know that they are now dancing with Jesus, but their families want them back. We pray for peace and closure for those left behind.

I miss you, Boo Bear. I miss your smile and your laugh. I know that you are flying free. Friends chime in almost daily to give me cardinal reports. Sometimes, I see you when I am out and about with the dogs. Last night I saw lightening bugs, something I have not seen since I was a child. Are there lightening bugs in heaven? We went to Taco Bell for you last week, the first time we have been back since we lost you. I had a freezie in your memory. I smiled through the tears. Sweet boy, know that your mama loves and misses you. The Cardinal is the state bird in Virginia, so I will look for your there. Forever and ever, your loving mama. Harriet.

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.