Tag: prayer

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.

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.

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.