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.
Harriet's Hedgehogs and Autism Advocacy 