Tag: life

Ravi Announces Himself

Dear Ravi,

Do you know that today is the 24th anniversary of you announcing your presence? It was one of the strangest days of my life, but leave it to you to throw in some drama and flair. It was November 13, 2001 and I had an early morning teacher meeting. I went upstairs to my study to pick up some notes and I remember standing at the top of the stairs. I remember my vision coning in and feeling odd. The next thing I knew I was at the bottom of the stairs, in a pile of papers, with a concerned Daddy peering at me. I crawled back into bed and lay there a few minutes. I knew that I had broken some ribs because I could feel them grinding against each other. We decided that the best option was to go to the Emergency Room.

It was still early in the morning and not many people were in the ER. We got seen by a rather bored nurse. She asked it there was any chance that I could be pregnant. I said yes, and I hoped so. She took some blood and vanished. We sat there for 2 hours, no one checking on us. Eventually, the same nurse reappered and handed me my clothes. “You can go now” she said. “What?” I said. “What about my rib?”. She assured us that there was nothing that she could do about the ribs. I asked her, “Can you at least tell me if I am pregnant”. “”Oh honey, you are definitely pregnant”. Then she vanished. Poof. Shaking our heads I put my clothes back on and limped out the door, utterly confused.

We went home. I was thrilled to be pregnant, but confused about the rest. Later I got a call from United Hospital to come in to see an OB/GYN. I showed up for the appointment and went in alone. She was very cold. She agreed that I was pregnant and said, “You probably killed the baby by falling on him, come back in 3 months for a follow up.” I left the exam room in tears, vowing to find a better provider. Daddy was horrified. I went home and called my regular GP for an appointment the next day. On Wednesday, I went in to see her. She was disgusted by the way that United had treated me and vowed to find me good help, if I could just sit tight and wait. I agreed. An hour later she came back. She had found me an OB/GYN clinic in my network who would see me the very next day. I thanked her profusely. The next day I went to the new clinic. The kind doctor assured me that I was pregnant and that you had a strong heartbeat. I had never heard such a beautiful sound in my entire life. Ravi, you were alive and kicking. I was so proud of you. I was given a thick booklet on what to expect for the rest of my pregnancy, how to make follow up appointments every 4 weeks, and who to call if I thought anything was awry. They could not give me any painkillers for my ribs, but I did not care. I was pregnant! I returned home joyfully and decided to avoid the stairs for a while

Ravi, most women miss their period and pee on a pregnancy stick to find out if they are expecting. My period was never in the least reliable and I had to faint and fall down a flight of stairs to realize that something was up. You always did have a flair for the dramatic! The rest of the pregnancy was textbook simple, until 34 weeks when you decided to announce your early arrival. Once again, you did not refer to a calendar or anyone’s plans, you just came, but that is a blog for another day.

Last night, Daddy and I went to a state park to see the aurora. The Northern Lights were dim, but we saw them! I have been waiting almost 55 years to see them. There were also some beautiful clear stars, a herd of startled deer, and lots of coyotes singing the song of their people. I imagined you dancing in the stars and the aurora, free from your earthly bonds and this made me very happy. My dear, you are dancing with the starts with your Creator. You are free from all pain, fear, cancer, epilepsy. I love you to the moon and back. Mom.

All There Is

Dear Ravi,

Our good friend Roberta came over last night with the candle she lit for you in Durham Cathedral, while on her trip to England and Scotland. Apparently, you have been quite the traveler! She lit the candle for you in Durham and said prayers for you. When the candle had burned down, she scooped it up and put it in her coat pocket. You went on wonderful walks all over England and Scotland. You had the best tour guide ever! It probably is a lot cooler there than when you were hanging out with Alissa in Hawaii, but you had a nice warm pocket to ride around in.

After Robert left, I got out your cardinal candle holder that Laurie gave me. I put your candle and a fresh one inside and lit the flame. For a while, I just held space for you. Later, I began listing to an Anderson Cooper podcast called All There Is that had been recommended to me. I generally do not like podcasts as I prefer to get my information via reading plain text. This, however, was different. Anderson Cooper is easy to listen to. He interviews various people on grief as he tries to figure out his own losses and his place in the world. Two of the people he interviewed were President Joe Biden and Stephen Colbert. I was very eager to hear their particular takes on grief. Grief is savage and feral but cannot be denied. Colbert sees it as a tiger. He did not want a tiger, but the tiger chose him. Grief/Tigers can do extraordinary amounts of damage, but “Damn it, it’s my tiger.” Grief cannot be stuffed away, but must be lived with, shared, talked about and walked beside. I will definitely listen to this podcast again, and other ones in the series. It is my way of making space for both you and for my grief of you. Eventually, the candle burned down, and I was just left with my memories. I remember the good times and the hard times. I remember how incredibly brave and strong you were. I remember the day you flew free. If I could go back in time with you, I would choose the year you were 19. Your seizures were under control. Cancer was nowhere on our radar. You had Sam and you were learning to truly communicate. Even though parts of that time were during Covid, you were surrounded by family and friends that loved you and wanted only the best for you. I hold onto that particular time frame in my mind. You were so alive, well, thriving. I felt that there was nothing that you could not do. You voted in a democratic president and we both whooped for joy when he won. All was good.

This Sunday is All Saints Day. We will have a requiem service at church that afternoon. Beautiful music will be played and memories shared. The pictures of all the saints who have passed on from St Clement’s will be hung on the walls. It may seem odd to be looking forward to such a somber service, but I truly am eagerly anticipating you. Ravi, you were so loved, and your memory lives on strong. As long as I draw breath, you will live in my heart forever. I rejoice in the thought of you tramping all over Scotland with Roberta. You always were peripatetic, not one to stay home. I sense you most when I am outside, when the sun dapples through the trees, when I certain chords on the church organ that reverberate through me. Fly free my son. Fly free and experience joy. I am cheering you on, for every and always.

Love,
Mom

12 months

Dear Ravi,

“My words fly up, my thoughts remain below. Words without thoughts to heaven ne’er shall go.” Macbeth. I have no idea what to write, so I will invite the Holy to prompt me.

Ravi, it has been a beautiful yet heartbreaking weekend. I have felt your presence in all who have reached out to us. The people who sent cards or gifts, those who prayed for you and lit candles. Those who offered the altar flowers in your memory. My son, you have not been forgotten, and we are not alone. But, in the midst of this beauty, I am heartbroken. I miss you. I miss your infectious grin and your inane cackle when you found something to be particularly funny or absurd. I miss your hand in mine. I miss talking to you with Sam. I miss our treks to Taco Bell and Target. I have been able to get carry out at Taco Bell, but I have not been able to return to Target. That was the last outing that we took with you. You were so weak. We put you in your wheelchair and pushed you to the car. We drove you to Target and I ran inside to get a Caroline Cart. You loved those carts. We spent half an hour just roaming up and down the aisles, like we always did. This made you happy. That was the last time you left the house.

As I mentioned in an earlier epistle, your daddy and I have purchased two trees to plant in your honor. They arrive tomorrow and will make their new home in our backyard. One is a north star cherry. The other is a prairie fire crabapple. They will provide shade to the house and solace to our hearts.

After church today your daddy and I went to visit you in the chapel. Daddy said he could imagine your atoms and molecules running all over the universe. I reminded him that energy is neither created nor destroyed. You have simply moved on to a different form that we cannot see. On the day of your burial, Joy reminded us that Ravi is not here. No, you are not there in that chapel, even if that is where I continually return to visit you. You are running wild and free in the universe. Nothing can slow you down or harm you. Cancer, epilepsy, fear pain, are gone. You, my love, are free.

To all who are reading this blog, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for reaching out this weekend. We can feel your love. I wish I could spread this love to all the corners of the earth and truly bring forth the Kingdom of God. It is a blustery day outside, but I have a happy cat purring at my feet. The dogs are romping around in the wind, except for Raya who is snuggled up with Robert. And all will be well, and all manner of things will be well. Be good humans. Ravi, I love you forever and always. Mom.

11 months, 24 years

Dear Ravi,

It has been 11 months since I last held you in my arms. It has been 24 years since I stood in my middle school classroom watching the second tower fall. Both of these days are etched in my brain forever. I miss your funny laugh and your goofy smile. I miss how you talked to me through Sam. I miss waking you up in the morning, putting you to bed at night, and all the good times in between. I miss a time when our country was more innocent. I even miss being able to walk to the gate to meet someone getting off of an airplane.

The world is a chaotic and violent place right now. Much as I love and miss you, I am glad you are not here to see it. I have no idea how I would explain it to you. Your world was full of good, caring people who loved you. You had never seen a gun, you had never been attacked, and for all of this I give praise to God.

I wasn’t even pregnant with you on 9/11/2001. Your daddy and I had been married less than 5 weeks. It was the start of a new school year for me as a teacher and a new school year for me as a graduate student. Your daddy was working at Sun. We had so much to look forward to. I remember little of that day, just fragments and snippets. I do remember I banned the portable TV from my classroom, in a vain attempt to make the horror go away. I remember a few weeks later I was at the start of the Twin Cities Marathon when someone announced that the US had just attacked Afghanistan. A few weeks after that, on November 13, I fainted, fell down a flight of stairs, broke 2 ribs, and discovered that I was pregnant with you. You always did have a certain way of making your presence known.

Since that time, wars and presidents and shootings have gone on. Our society seems numb to it all. I am not numb. I feel like I am caught in a horrible nightmare from which I cannot wake up. I sense you in my dreams and right when I wake up, and my heart leaps. Then, reality sets in and I realize that all I can do is hold your memory in my heart and the great love I have for you in my actions with others.

Ravi, you lived a life of love. In your memory I try to carry that on. Your daddy tries to carry that on. Maybe from where you are now you can make sense of this crazy world or at least have that Perfect Peace that Jesus spoke of. Please know you are always in my heart. I feel you when I run, or I see a monarch butterfly or a cardinal. The veil between you and I is very thin. One day, we will meet again. In the meant time, I love you to the moon and back. Mom.

Good morning, Ravi

Dear Ravi,

I woke up missing you today. This is nothing unusual. You and your sibling are the first thing I think of when I wake up and the last thing I think of when I fall asleep. Ravi, you often come to me in my dreams, but your sibling, Mercury, is much more elusive.

It is a quiet Sunday. Daddy is off at the airfield with a friend. I am slowly taking care of the pets and cleaning the house. I did not make it to church this morning as today is one of those days when it is challenging to even leave the house. I will walk the dogs, but I am not feeling up to engaging with the world at large. I continue to like my new job, but by the end of a 9-hour shift, I am tired. It feels good to work for someone who uses AAC and has similar social justice views that your daddy and I have.

I saw a tattoo today that horrified me. It was a heart, made out of the autism puzzle piece. In the middle of it, the tattoo read, ” I am his voice, he is my heart.” Ravi, you have your own voice, loud and clear. You could say so much by using Sam, through a roll of your eyes, a gesture, your body language. I am your mom, your biggest fan and advocate, but I am not your voice. God gave you a voice, my son, and mouth words are not superior to other types of communication. I am certain that the wearer of this tattoo means no harm, but it seems to me that she is claiming ownership of her child. I did not own you, Ravi. I was deeply blessed by you, I adore you, but I never once owned you. You are your own person, always were, always will be. One should be careful what one gets as a tattoo, because once one gets it, it is there for life. Currently, I have tattoos for you and Mercury. I am proud of them. It generally takes me about 10 years to come up with the perfect tattoo design. At some point, I will get another tattoo for you. It might be your name or your initials. It might be a cardinal. It might be something completely different. Time will tell. I do know that I will have it put on my right leg so I can always take you running and walking with me. I am running and walking here on earth for you, and I can only assume that you are your usual peripatetic self in heaven!

The dogs are schooling around my legs like a hungry sharks having a feeding frenzy. They are ready for me to stop blogging and take them for a walk. The temps are lovely and cool today with a gentle breeze. Perfect weather for dog walking and working in the yard. I know that you are dancing in heaven, but the selfish part of me wants you here, safe and whole and healthy. I miss you, son. The first anniversary of your passing is fast approaching, and I am seeking a way to celebrate your life. I invite you to visit me in a dream and drop some good ideas. Love you forever, Mom.

24 years!

Dear Ravi,

Today, August 5th, 2025, is your daddy’s and my 24th wedding anniversary. That was a day of record-breaking heat. It was 103 F outside and the unairconditioned chapel at Fort Snelling was not much cooler! The wedding dress that I thought was so beautiful in February was not made for an August wedding. In all of our wedding pictures we look rather shiny. Some people said that we looked radiant. Actually, we were sweating copiously. But the vows were said, the rings were exchanged, and we agreed to be partners until death do we part. It was the beginning of the rest of our lives together. Fortunately, the wedding reception venue had AC. The cake tried to melt, but we got it cut and served just in time. No one fainted. One of my students sang for us, and being jugglers, many clubs were passed. My favorite wedding photo is not a staged photo, but one of me and your daddy passing clubs together. He was in a tuxedo, I was in veil and gown, and we were having the time of our lives.

Today is an odd day. This is our first wedding anniversary without you. You were only 6 weeks old at our first anniversary, about the size of a football with a great mop of dark curly hair. Everyone said that your hair would fall out, but it never did. Today, your daddy and I will walk over to St Clement’s to sit on the lawn and talk about you. Later we will go to Shish, one of our favorite restaurants. You always had a penchant for their fries. I have to admit, they are very good.

Tomorrow, I begin my first day of work as a PCA. I miss being a caretaker and I think this will be a good fit. I am only working about 20 hours a week, which leaves me plenty of time for other endeavors. Your daddy is also looking around for part time work. Nikki, the cat, has a 22 hour a day job, sleeping. The rest of the time he begs for snacks and chases bugs. Right now, he is on the back of my chair and the dogs are crashed at my feet. You would like our newest dog, Raya. She is very sweet. Dear Boo, I am holding you in my heart today and every day. Love you forever. Mom.

Nine months

Dear Ravi,

It has been nine months since I held you in my arms, kissed you goodbye and let you fly free. Sometimes, nine months seems like forever, other times it seems like it was just yesterday. Time and grief are peculiar that way. Today we are going to celebration of life ceremony for our friend Dave. He was another person whom your Daddy and I held in our arms, along with his loving niece Laurie, until he took his last breath. I have to admit, Boo, Daddy and I think that we have said enough goodbyes and done enough end-of-life care for a good long time. I know that you and Dave are dancing in heaven, but those of us on earth miss you deeply.

I am slowly easing back into the work world. I have had interviews this week for both a tutoring job and a care taking job. I don’t want to work more than 25 hours a week, and I won’t do end of life care. I need to get out of the house a bit and engage with the outside world.

The exciting news is that your daddy, a dear friend of mine, and I are planning a trip to Spain in 2027. We want to hike El Camino. There are several people at St. Clement’s who have done this pilgrimage, and I am eager to talk to them about their adventures. I have never been to Spain, and I love to hike. I would love to do a pilgrimage for you, Boo Bear. I have no idea if cardinals live in Spain, but I am positive that you will check in while we are on our journey.

I need to get ready for Dave’s celebration of life. I hope that you and he are having grand adventures in heaven. The dogs are happily curled up at my feet. The cat is purring. For the moment, life is peaceful. I miss you tons.

Love, 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.

Happy Birthday, Mercury

Dear Mercury,

Happy 21s birthday to you. We hope that you are well. Though we heard your voice as you facetimed goodbye to Ravi, we have not seen you since you were 18. We miss you. Though the house is full of animals, there is no longer any teen or young adult energy. We still have Jack Jack and Gloria. Shortly after you departed, we adopted Nikki, an orange tabby cat. In December we adopted Raya. a blue merle aussie. She is very sweet and shy but has decided that Dad and I are her safe people. Catherine, the hedgehog, is her usually sassy self. She loves bugs, her wheel, and snuggling in my bathrobe.

What can I say? I just want to talk to you. I never wanted you to leave, I just wanted time to talk to you without Eli chiming in. The last summer you were home, all I wanted was 30 minutes of your time, to go for a walk or to take you out to coffee. When you came home for spring break, I was hoping we could connect, but your brother was in the hospital. Though you visited him once, you did not even acknowledge him, you were too wrapped up in Eli. And, since you paid no attention to Ravi, he ignored you. He fought cancer for 22 months. You never called him or even sent him a card. It was like he did not even exist. Someday, I hope you are able to understand the depth of your loss.

I love you, Mercury, but we are also hurt and angry. You never told Dad your preferred name or pronouns but became furious if he called you by your birth name. We will happily pay for your education, and help you with FAFSA, but you have to talk to us first. We hope you are having a good birthday. We are always willing to talk to you and extend a hand. You have had our phone numbers memorized since you were six. You can call us, but we can’t call you as you changed your number. Give us a chance, we are not complete evil, regardless of what Eli is whispering in your ear. We did not kick you out of the house because you are trans. When I emailed you 2 Easters ago and sent you an Easter basket, you only replied in rage. We will only reach out to you in love. Take care of yourself. You know our phone numbers. Would it be too much to pick up the phone and call? Love, Mom and Dad.

8 months

Eight months ago, on a Friday night, we lost Ravi. Time is a weird thing. Sometimes it is very wrinkled and scrunched up. Other times it seems to stretch out for eons. This is how the last eight months have been for us. We are ever grateful for our friends who have walked this path with us.

Next Wednesday, June 18, will be Ravi’s 23rd birthday, his first birthday in heaven. We have given much thought as how to navigate this day. In the morning, we will go visit him at the chapel/columbarium. At noon, we will meet a dear friend at Como Zoo and Conservatory. This was one of Ravi’s favorite places. Seals and penguins always made him laugh. He was not quite sure about giraffes, as they have long gangly legs and purple/green slimy tongues. Otters are always good for a belly laugh. The Conservatory is a good place just to walk and meditate among green growing things. We loved to take the kids here during the winter, just to go someplace warm and smell all the wonderful flowers.

Prior to his birthday, we also have plans. Robert is going soaring on Saturday. I am going to the No Kings protest at the capital. We are having dinner with a good friend that evening. On Sunday, Robert is going to a Father’s Day fly in at the airfield and I am volunteering at a Pride booth for St. Clements. I have a sign ready that says, “Free Mom Hugs”. In little letters down below, it says “glitter not included”.

So, despite not really know what emotions will hit us next week, we have a good weekend plan with ways to reach out to our community. Next Wednesday, please spare a thought or prayer for Ravi who is celebrating his first birthday with Jesus. We wish he were here with us, but we give thanks his is in a place where cancer, fear, pain, and epilepsy have no dominion. If you see a cardinal or a monarch butterfly, or anything else in nature that grabs your attention, that is Ravi dropping in to say hi. Give him a wave, blow him a kiss, and be good humans. Peace, Harriet, Ravi’s mom.