Tag: music

Cardinals sing for me

Dear Ravi,

Yesterday was a lovely yet bittersweet day at church. There was beautiful music and a light breeze wafting through the open windows. There were only women serving at the altar. The organ swelled and billowed amazing music. In the midst of this beauty, I realized once again that I can no longer sing. I have not sung since you left us. I have not played the piano since you slipped away. My musical muse is gone. I am grateful that my writing muse has stayed the course, but I can no longer sing or practice piano. Both have been a huge part of my life since I was a little kid. Suddenly I am thinking of the song The Day the Music Died. Ravi, my musical muse died with you. When I am joined with you again, I will sing. Until then, I listen to and enjoy the choir and the organ. Daddy still plays the piano occasionally, and I enjoy listening to him. I am afraid if I touch the keyboard I will crack into one thousand little pieces.

After church I slipped down to see you. The chapel was cool and inviting. I spent a long time with my hand on your niche, talking to you and praying for you. My love, I miss you.

The highlight of the weekend was a visit from Karen, Hannah’s mom. We spent a wonderful day together. She gifted the dogs with toys and us with a 1,000 piece jigsaw puzzle that she said reminded her of you. The puzzle is a clothes line full of goofy socks, surrounded by birds and flowers. We are absolutely charmed. Daddy and I got it out last night and got most of the edge pieces sorted out. We figure it will take about a week to finish, and it is time very well spent as it reminds us of you. The major battle is keeping Nikki off the table and not letting him bat the puzzle pieces. The dogs are not much interested.

I found out that Shirley was the one who sent us the fuzzy cardinal blanket. Thank you, Shirley. It was so good to talk to you the other evening. The blanket is the perfect weight to curl up under while I am writing. Adding to the cardinal motif, I heard a pair of cardinals singing yesterday. Cardinals have now become my voice. I can’t sing, but they certainly can!

All of this is to say that I love you and miss you. Our friends remember you fondly. Your legacy lives on in the hearts of those who love you. You are never alone. I am still trying to find an agent to represent your book. Mostly what I am getting is agents that say I have an interesting concept but they are not looking for memoirs at this time. Sigh. I will keep trying. I love you to the moon and back. Mom.

Amazing Grace

Dear Ravi,

Yesterday, your daddy and I were walking down Summit Avenue towards the river. Suddenly, we heard a familiar noise that we had not heard all winter; it was Jim playing the bagpipes! Surely, this is a sign of spring. You loved to listen to Jim play the pipes. We would sit on a bench near the war memorial and just soak in the music. You never wanted to get too close to him because bagpipes, even outdoors, are loud! Remember, they were an instrument of war, meant to heard above the hue and cry of battle. Jim does not play battle music; he plays wonderful music that remind me of the moors of Scotland. Whenever we heard Jim playing, we always had to stop and listen.

Shortly after you passed, Jim volunteered to play the pipes at your funeral. We gladly accepted and I asked him to play Amazing Grace. At the beginning of the service, he stood on the parish green and played his heart out. Following the final note the church bell tolled 22 times, once for each year of your life. It’s odd, I have only fleeting memories of daddy’s and my wedding, but your final service is forever etched in my mind and my heart. The church was full of friends, yours and ours, jugglers, runners, nurses, teachers, athletes from The Magic. All of these people stopped what they were doing on a beautiful Saturday afternoon and bore witness to your life. Even in the depths of our grief, we felt the power of their love.

I did not hear Jim today when I took Rosie for a walk. It was very windy and a storm is moving in. Most activities for the weekend have been cancelled. If this storm blows right by us and all we get is a sprinkle of rain, I will laugh. I continue to plead with your baby trees and my bulbs to stay under cover and not come out yet. There will be plenty of time to play in the sun, but not yet. Spring in Minnesota is notoriously fickle. You know that.

So, I am sitting here with the dogs. Daddy is making curry. The kitchen smells amazing. On the other side of the ocean, war rages, but I am trying not to focus on that right now. Dr Kardell gave me a new mantra. She told me to keep doing the next right thing. I think about that a lot. I think about how I can do the next right thing in your memory, in the life of your daddy, and in all the people I come across. I want to do the next right thing by turning this blog into a book so you will live forever in the hearts of your readers.

So, these are just my thoughts on a cold, windy Friday night. I wish that you were with us, but I know that you are someplace much better. Fly free, Ravi. Love you to the moon and back. Mom.