Tag: love

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

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

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

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

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

Dear Ravi

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

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

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

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

Time Passes

Ravi, it has been nearly 4 months since we lost you. Time and space are funny things. Sometimes, I feel so close to you. Other times, all I can feel is grief. As a bus aid, I pass St. Clements Church twice a day. When the bus goes by, I give you a little wave, a thumbs up, and blow you a kiss. This is my twice a day ritual. Somehow, you keep me grounded as I head into the happy chaos of work. I feel your presence most strongly when I am on the playground at Bridge View School. Years ago, Principal Lisa and I poured concrete for a handicapped accessible playground. Since then, over a decade of students have enjoyed this play space. Like y0u, many of my students love to swing. Some can pump themselves into the air on their own. Others are happiest when I I push them high into the sky. It is then and there that I feel your presence. Often, while I am pushing a student, the sun peaks out from behind a cloud, and I know that you are saying hi.

The world is crazy right now. Basic human rights are being taken away. You would not understand this scary new world, and if you were here, I would do my best to shield you from it. You and I were so proud when you cast your vote for President Biden 4 years ago. We rejoiced when he won. Immediately after his administration ended, the world became a much darker place. The Medicaid that paid all your bills the last 22 months of your life is in danger of being taken away. The cancer research that prolonged your short life is frozen. I miss you deeply, but in a way, I am glad you are not part of this terrifying new world, but rather, hanging out with Jesus, and all those who have gone before.

Remember Mr. Rogers? His mother once told him that when things were scary to look for the helpers. There are helpers, Ravi. There are brave men, women, and transpeople who are standing up for what it is right and good. The Right Rev. Budde preached love and acceptance from the pulpit of the National Cathedral. She was the same person that offered the body of Matthew Shepherd sanctuary. There was no safe place for his body to rest until she had him interred at the Cathedral. I hope that you and Matthew and all the saints are dancing in heaven.

Boo Bear, I miss you more than mere words can express. Our house misses your energy. True, we have dogs and a cat and a hedgehog, but we miss your vibrant autistic energy. When I wake up in the morning, first thing, when I am in that state between dreams and reality, I believe, for a fleeting second that you are still here. Then, reality hits me like a freight train. Though life is hard and scary right now, I will continue to show up for you. Your daddy and I will be two of the helpers. Ravi, you were a good human. It is now the job of the rest of us to be good humans. I love you to the moon and back. Peace