Tag: writing

On Hold, again

Dear Ravi,

The confusion with health care continues. As you know, my health insurance was cut off at the beginning of April, but no one can tell me why. I have appealed and written about my struggle to various politicians. Yesterday, I thought I was supposed to be on Minnesota Care, starting May 1. Today, I got another notice in the mail that said I qualified for Minnesota Assistance and eligibility began April 1. MA was what you had and kept up from going bankrupt during your last illness. I am not certain why I qualified for it, except that I have not garnered any income of note in the past year. Right now, I am on hold again with Ramsey County. I want to find out if I really am insured or not. I have no idea. It would be nice if I were insured from April 1 on as that would cover my days in the Partial Hospitalization Program from April 1 through April 8, when all of this nonsense started. I am so confused! So, I am writing to you which is always a dandy use of my time.

Today was a good day. Do you remember all the horrible but expensive clothes that Anabel has sent me over the years? Well, they have left the house! Most of them still had tags on them. None of the clothes fit me, my shape, or my coloring. I never wore them and have resided in the upstairs closet for over a decade. A therapist suggested to me that I would feel much better if I did not have these clothes in my house anymore. I realized that she was correct. These clothes do not represent me; they only represent what Anabel expects me to be. I have not talked to her since your funeral and her behavior that day and the days leading up to your death are unforgiveable. I have cut all contact with her and plan to never see her again. Anyway, today a friend and I gathered up all the unwanted clothes and took them to Turn Style, the consignment shop that you once liked. I don’t ever care if I get money for these clothes. They are gone from the house for good. If Anabel had ever really understood me, she would have gotten me clothes from LL Bean or REI.

Oh, wow, now I am off hold and actually got an agent on the phone. It turns out that I do have MA, and it started at the beginning of this month. Who knew? I am not going to drown in debt from my last few days of PHP. I am suddenly limp with relief. It is sad commentary on our government that it took 2 weeks for me to get all of this straightened out. Our medical system is such a mess. Our country is such a mess. Right now, I can’t tell you if the Strait of Hormuz is open or shut. I don’t know if gas prices will go down or continue to spiral upwards. There are a lot of uncertainties right now. Though I miss you deeply, I am glad you are not surrounded by this chaos.

The rain has stopped falling and the world is green and budding. I am about to go for a walk with a good friend and her dog. I have health insurance. I am no longer in a state of panic. Run free in heaven with your cousin Joyce and know that Daddy and I love you forever. Mom.

Democracy running!

Dear Ravi,

Yesterday I was walking the dogs in the neighborhood. As we were crossing Snelling Avenue a familiar looking man was coming the other way. He waved, smiled, said hi, and complimented our dogs. Suddenly, I realized who the smiling man was, Tim Walz, our governor! He was just out for a run, like any normal person would do on such a lovely day. We grinned, said hi, and went on our way. Ravi, he is a really good governor. He is the reason all public-school children in Minnesota get free breakfast and lunch every day. He was a high school history teacher and a football coach. His son, Gus, went to our local high school. The Walz family is about as Minnesotan as one can get. I am proud that we voted for him. I am sorry he is not our vice president. He and Kamala would have done such a good job for our country. If you are looking down from heaven right now, things are more than a bit of a mess. We could use some peaceful divine intervention.

Early this morning I went out to check on your trees. They survived the winter and are starting to put out shy little buds. They still have the bunny bumpers around their trunks as our yard is full of rabbits and I do not trust them. The basil plant made a brave comeback, but the rodents are busy nibbling it. The daffodils in the side yard are about to open up. Even though it may be chilly this weekend, spring is definitely on the way.

The dogs woke me up early this morning, so I decided to write to you and then continue to edit our manuscript. Your daddy is sleeping the sleep of the just. The dogs, having gotten me up, have now returned to bed. So, things are about the way they always were, minus you. Still no word about your sibling, other than that they made a terrible mistake and got married back in February. I know that they did not finish college, and I doubt very much that they have a decent job. It’s been over 3 years since they left in a fit of pique. I wonder if they will ever return. If you have any great wisdom for me, I would love to hear it. You always could pick up someone’s vibe; it they were a good person or not. You and Mercury were never close. Perhaps you had your reasons. Anyway, I am going return to our manuscript. I love you forever, Mom.

Spring has Sprung!

Dear Ravi,

I think that spring is actually here. We narrowly missed some hailstorms and tornados last night. All we got were a few drops of rain. We are very lucky. Many of the schools in Wisconsin are closed today, due to flooding. Today was moderately warm and a great day to meet a friend for coffee and also to walk the dogs. Jack Jack, Raya, and I walked 2.5 miles. Raya has a favorite tree she insists on visiting at least once a day. It is an evergreen that she loves to sniff, rub up against, and roll under. As long as she gets to share a yogurt with daddy in the morning and we walk her to her favorite tree in the afternoon she is a very happy canine. After her walk, I walked Gloria 3.5 miles. Though Jack Jack will stop anyone we pass for belly rubs, Gloria is strictly business. She is there to walk at a quick pace and nothing else. Our girl is all focus.

Checking out our yard today I saw two things that made me very happy. Daffodils are coming up in the front yard. In the back yard, the two trees we planted in your memory are starting to bud! They survived the winter in good form. I have not taken the bunny bumpers off of them yet as we have a ton of rabbits in the back yard and I do not want them to think that your trees are a snack! There are tons of turkeys in the neighborhood. All the males are showing off their tail feathers and strutting in front of the hens. The hens just look bored. Robins are busy building nests. Squirrels are playing chicken with all the cars. Yes, it is definitely spring.

I am still fighting the health insurance industry. I did receive word that my emergency appeal is under review. When will it dawn on our country that universal healthcare is a human right? Other countries figured it out years ago. This baffles me. Sigh. I will keep fighting. I am always rather bewildered by the people who laugh at me and say that I am a social justice warrior. If I don’t fight for social justice, what is left to fight for? Advocacy is a hill I am not afraid to die on.

Nikki the cat is curled up next to me on the couch, giving great rumbling purrs. He loves the electric blanket about as much as I do. Just like Raya needs her yogurt and her favorite tree, Nikki needs warm places to rest. During the day you can find him on my reading chair in a sunbeam, at night he is on the heated blanket.

I know that you are well and dancing in heaven, but I wish I could share this glorious springtime with you. I miss you and both of the Daves. The three of you were excellent humans who left planet earth too early. I will keep on writing and talking about you. Your story lives on. I love you forever, Mom.

The Perch that did not perch

Dear Ravi,

A sunny day here, but with weather moving in. When I am not dealing with the bureaucracy that is our health care system, I have been taking long walks with either the dogs and Daddy or good friends. Yesterday, a good friend and I walked about 6 miles around our neighborhood. We were walking up Cretin Avenue, at least half a mile from any body of water, when we came upon a dead fish in the middle of the sidewalk. I think the fish was a Perch and it definitely had seen better days. Our only guess was that an eagle or osprey had flown into a nearby tree to eat his snack and dropped it. I have no idea why the bird did not retrieve the fish, but there it sits, looking very dead and sad. Not exactly what we were expecting to see! We also saw tons of birds, bunnies, and turkeys. They were all alive, well, and definitely looking to procreate. It is spring!

I have found myself suddenly without insurance after having been in PHP for the last month. Insurance pulled out at the end of March, but I did not receive notice of this until April 8. Healthpartners is claiming this is a MNSure problem. MNSure does not seem to care. I have medical bills looming. Not the best place to be in. I have written the Keith Ellison, our AG, filed an emergency appeal with MNSure, and applied for emergency help through Ramsey County. This is very frustrating. I have paid all my premiums on time, but the state claims that I missed a deadline that I did not even know existed, and I have no insurance until May. I rescheduled my appointment with the pain clinic and have put off seeing any medical professionals for the next 3 weeks. The good news is that I don’t need any pharmacy refills. In short, this is a nightmare.

Sorry, my love. I started out talking about a fish on the sidewalk and ended up on a rant against our medical system. In short, it is broken. I am glad you always had MA and that Daddy is retired.

I am returning to work in a week as a nanny for a 15-month-old boy. I am excited to be working again and hope that this will keep me from spiraling into the fear that I won’t have money to pay my bills. Never in my life have I bought something that I could not pay for, so not having control over my medical debt, for reasons that were not my fault, really scares me. To my readers in other civilized countries with universal healthcare, this actually happens fairly often in the US. The biggest cause of bankruptcy is medical debt. Sometimes, it really stinks to be an American.

Hope I haven’t bored you with this diatribe. This is not my first or my last go around trying to get my health care covered. I am so thankful that you got the care you needed immediately, and it did not run us into debt. I know that you are flying free. I am editing your story and looking for agents. You are always on my mind and in my heart. Love you to the moon and back. Mom.

Telling Your Story

Dear Ravi,

Yesterday marks 18 months since you left us. I celebrated your life at a writing workshop. It was an amazing experience. I got to meet so many other writers and we all shared our notes and thoughts on the speakers, our work, and life in general. I did my very first pitch to an agent! I was so nervous. I had practiced what I wanted to say for a solid week and somehow the words came out right. The agent said that my pitch was rock solid and your story was compelling. The only problem was that her genre is non-fiction but not memoir. She was very encouraging. I did not get a hit, but I am chalking this up to just being a good practice run. When encouraged, I shared my pitch with several published writers who all said that your story needed to be told and they wanted to learn more. Ravi, you are not forgotten. You live on in the stories that I share with people

There were some good takeaways from yesterday. I am rewriting my letter of query, for the third or fourth time. I am still honing my craft and editing my main body of work. I have avenues to find new agents. All in all, it was a very successful day. I am glad that I went and intend to attend more conferences in the future. There are also options to attend and pitch online, which I will do this summer. I had absolutely no idea that there were so many writing genres, some that I had never heard of.

It started to thunder early this morning and the dogs, especially Raya had to tell me about it. I had hoped to sleep in as yesterday drained all of my energy. No luck. That is okay, I fed the dogs, gave Raya an empty peanut butter jar to work on, fixed coffee and got to work. I do my best work early in the morning, I had just not planned on getting up quite so early today! After the rain passes, I am meeting a friend for a walk. We both have pent up emotions and anxieties to let go off. I call this taking my demons for a walk.

So, my Houdini-esq young man with a penchant for loud colorful socks, jaunty chapeaus, Subway sandwiches, Swedish fish and sour patch kids, I think you were well represented yesterday. Other writers heard your story and want to hear more. You may be far from my arms, but you are forever in my heart. Your story will live on in the memories of people who loved you and the word that I write about you. I see you in the birds in my garden and in the early morning sunrise. You are not far from me, I just can’t see you, except in my mind’s eye. For now, that will have to be enough. I love you forever. Mom.

18 months and an agent pitch

Dear Ravi,

It has been exactly 18 months since you passed away in my arms. I miss you every day. I look for you in the cardinals and the newly budding flowers. I hold you in my heart forever. Tomorrow is a big day. I am attending an all-day writer’s conference and have an opportunity to pitch my manuscript to an agent! I am excited and very nervous. I cannot bring any notes with me into the pitch, relying only on memory and trusting that you and God will guide me. Follow along for my pitch:

The setting of this story is in St. Paul, MN, in my neighborhood and community, Bridge View School, a title 1 Level 4 school where the main character spent 13 happy years, and Masonic Children’s Hospital.

The main character of this memoir is a Houdin-esq young man by the name of Ravi Herndon. He has a penchant for colorful socks, jaunty chapeaus, Subway sandwiches, sour patch kids and Swedish fish. Due to his autism, he does not speak using mouth words but can communicate volumes.

There are three points of pivot in the manuscript. The first occurs when Ravi is 15 and develops treatment resistant epilepsy. The second happens when Ravi is 18. Though he has been in speech therapy since he was a 2-year-old, he never uttered a single mouth word. Therapists would offer him 2 or 3 choices on a sheet of paper, but he would not make a choice because he did not like what was offered. Teachers suggested that either he was a “non-communicator” or was “just slow”. I am here to tell you that all behavior is communication and that Ravi is not slow. In his 18th year he had a wonderful speech language pathologist who realized that Ravi did not need 2 or 3 choices, he needed over 100. We jumped through all sort of insurance hoops to get him an Augmentative Auxiliary Communication device, otherwise known as an AAC. This device allowed Ravi to tell us where he wanted to go, who he wanted to see, how he felt, to order from a menu, and many other options. Suddenly, 18 years of non-speaking broke forth from this AAC which we lovingly dubbed Sam. Ideas, and words, and complete sentences bubbled forth and it was game changer. It turns out that Ravi had a lot to say! The third transition occurs on December 9, 2022, when Ravi is diagnosed with Stage 4 Osteosarcoma, a rare and aggressive bone disease.

This manuscript grew out of a blog. When Ravi was diagnosed in 2004 there were much fewer autism diagnoses and even fewer supports. I had a highly anxious, non-speaking toddler with huge sensory issues. Somehow, I had to figure out the day-to-day things like brushing his teeth, washing his hair, clipping his nails, going to the doctor or dentist without causing him undue trauma. I began writing about our adventures in hopes of providing a road map for other parents of newly diagnosed children. I did not want them to have to recreate the wheel. Over time, the blog gained momentum and now reaches over 4,000 readers per year in at least 15 different countries. Parent, teachers, doctors and dentists began responding to me telling me how my blog had helped them better inform their practice.

Unlike many parenting memoirs on autism, this story does not end on a triumphant note where a therapist comes rushing in to save the day, Ravi begins speaking in mouth words and we all live happily ever after. Though this story does not end as how the reader might wish for Ravi, it does end on a note of strength and hope. Autistic services end when a child reaches adulthood. Modern medicine sometimes fails. My hope is that I have created a map to help parents advocate strongly and lovingly for their neurodiverse child in a world that often does not understand.

Stories, Dreams, and Memories

Dear Ravi,

I found this quote yesterday and thought of you.

“Do you have a magic spell to return someone to life?” she said.

“No” the witch said, “I am sorry.”

“Oh.”

“Why don’t you tell me about them?”

“Will that bring them back?”

“For us. For a little while. Stories are a different kind of magic.”

Ravi, stories are magical. You know that. I read to you before you were even born, weaving a nest of words to bring you safely into my arms. Today, I am a weaver of words to hold your memory alive. Stories and dreams are richly intertwined. There was a dream specialist named John Sanford with whom I am greatly enamored. He was a priest, a doctor of sorts, and a Jungian. He had a daily practice of writing down his dreams as soon as he awoke for the day. For the past 6 months I have diligently taken up this practice and the results are amazing. Did you know that God speaks to us through our dreams, via all sorts of symbolism, memories and mystery? This is not just the stuff of the Old Testament but is true even today. Follow me below the jump.

For the last 4 years of your life, I had the same dream, over and over. I was swimming in a deep blue peaceful ocean. The waves gently rocked and cradled me. Suddenly, I realized that something was amiss with my left arm. It was crooked and bent at an odd angle. I could not use it to pull me through the water. The waves were no longer gentle but rough, and I struggled to make any forward motion. I was in deep water and very afraid. At this point I always woke up. After you died, I never had this dream again. I was looking through my notes and the symbolism of the dream suddenly hit me. You were an avid swimmer. You loved the water. The cancer first began in your left humerus and spread. After your second surgery, which added 6 months to your life, your left arm was bent at an odd angle, and you could no longer swim. The ocean was the waters of your baptism. The struggle was the cancer within you. The water, in itself, was not evil, but the cancer deep withing your bones was. The two together were wrestling for your soul, for your life. I have not been studying dreams very long, so this is my vague stab at an interpretation. Others may see it differently. Last night I had another dream. You were in a school program that was not right for you, and you were very unhappy. You could speak, but only through echolalia. You were worried about bad things happening and were trying frantically to tell me. Suddenly, teacher Sonia show up. She said that this was the wrong setting for you, but she would take you into her class immediately after Christmas. I agreed that this was a good idea and said that I would pull you out of your current program immediately as the current class was not serving you. I sent you home on the bus and stayed to fill out some paperwork. On the way home I saw an airplane overhead. Suddenly, it was engulfed in a bright light, it burst into flames, hit the ground and exploded in a ball of fire. I knew that we were being attacked by Iran. I left my car and started running to a school. I did not know what school it was, but I knew that it was safe. In the school I huddled in a stairwell with many of my former coworkers from Risen Christ School, where I had taught when I was pregnant with you. Anna Marie and I hugged each other, the same as we had done on 9/11. Students began streaming into the building. They were not my Risen Christ students, but my students from Our Lady of Lourdes School, my first teaching position in 1997. Some of the students were uninjured, others were gravely hurt. 5 of my 8th grade girls were packed into a container marked Biohazard. They had been contaminated by a toxic substance and were about to be shipped to a hospital to be decontaminated. I could wave at them through the portal, but I could not touch them. Their limbs were broken and twisted. I woke up with a start.

Some parts of this dream make sense. Ravi, your safety and the safety of Mercury has always been my top priority. The safety of my students came next. The threat of an Iran invasion is very real right now. I do not know why I was surrounded by teachers and staff from nearly 3 decades ago, but I knew that they were important to me and that I had to protect them. Safety is paramount to any parent or teacher. The parents who sent their little girls to school on that fateful Saturday in Iran thought that they were keeping their children safe. The teachers in the school tried to keep their 178 students safe. When one alarm went off, they vacated the building for what they thought was a safer place. Tragically, they died as they lived, protecting the children in their care. All that is left is 200 graves, where mourning parents met every evening of Ramadan, to weep, to pray, to remember, to wonder why such evil had to attack such innocence. Ravi, I have no good answers. The question of theodicy is older than the story of Job. Those of us who are left behind weep, we mourn, we remember.

Yesterday was an amazing day at church. I helped teach Sunday School. We talked about Lazarus and Jesus calling him forth from the dead. We did an art activity, using salt and watercolors to make a tear. At church I sat with some friends and soaked in the beauty of the music and the liturgy. Afterwards, I slipped downstairs to visit you. I want to leave you with one final thought. Recently, I read an essay by an Episcopal sister who was also a head nurse. One of the younger nurses came to her in great distress. She said that she had been praying fervently that one of her patients would be healed. Despite her prayers and ministrations, he passed away. She asked her superior why God had let this happen. The elderly nun replied that her prayers for her patient had indeed been answered. God had gifted her patient with eternal life. He had been risen from his body into the full Communion of saints, martyrs, and all who had died. He could never die or be ill again. This was God’s greatest blessing to him. Ravi, you too received this blessing. When you took your final breath, I knew that you were gone. I opened the front door to let your spirit fly free. You no longer inhabited your frail, sick body, you were born anew. This does not mean that I do not greatly grieve your passing. You are my first thought in the morning and my last thought at night. Your name is always on my lips and in my heart. I live to tell your story as a weaver of words.

Stories, dreams and memories. These are things that we carry with us on our journey. These are all that I have left of you. I wish that I had you here with me, but I know that you are someplace far better than we can ever imagine. Ravi, I miss you more than words can tell. I will continue to share your story by being a weaver of words. I love you to the moon and back. Yours forever, Mom.

Beware the Ides of March

Dear Ravi,

My muse kicked me out of bed bright and early. Actually, it is dark and early with about six to 10 inches of snow on the ground. Supposedly, we are being visited by Blizzard Elsa. For the last few days, we have had winds from 40 to 60 miles an hour. The garbage and recycling cans are having races up and down the alley. The dogs were out for a 4am frolic. Amazingly, church services were cancelled for today. When hardy Episcopalian Minnesotans decide to cancel services, you know it has to be pretty rough outside. There is a pause in the snow right now and we will wait and see if it blows over or continues to pound us. But I digress…

Today is the Ides of March. Ides just means the middle day of the month, such as the 15th. Today was famous in history, because a long time ago a man named Julius Ceasar was the leader of ancient Rome. He was not the most popular kind of guy. In the middle of the night on the 15th of March his wife had a dream. In the dream she was told that Julius should not go to the forum that morning. I believe that she may have also consulted and oracle about this. Anyway, she wakes up her husband in a panic and begs him not to go to work. She tells him that she knows he looks cute and fetching in his toga, but this was a good day to call in sick. Julius chooses to ignore her, much to his own detriment. At work he gets stabbed in the back by his good buddy Brutus, and a bunch of his coworkers. That was the end of Julius . Brutus and his buddies probably went out for bagels and coffee. The moral of the story? If your wife or mother says not to go to work, or not to go bungee jumping, or to jump out of plane, it is probably better to listen to them!

So, it is 4am and I am thinking about Pi day, the Ides of March, and lots of other things. As I mentioned yesterday, Daddy made a delicious pecan pie. It has lots of pecans, bakers’ chocolate, and a healthy dash of rye, just for good measure. Like you, I don’t really like most pies, but pecan pie has always had a special place in my heart. Daddy last made a pecan pie when we were at the farm in Virginia for Thanksgiving. At the end of the meal, despite many other desserts on the table, there was not a scrap of it left!

Yesterday, daddy and I were at the store to get supplies before it snowed. It was very crowded with people getting last minute groceries. I noticed a man near us. He was wearing a shabby coat and looked like he spent a lot of time outdoors. I saw him pick up groceries, look at the prices, and then put them back down. In the frozen section I saw him slip some ice cream sandwiches into his pocket. I pretended not to have noticed and did not say a word. I know that I always told you that we had to pay for food before we could eat it. Things are very different now. Prices of gas, food, necessities are through the roof. The rule nowadays is if you see someone slipping food into the pocket or their bag, ignore them! Our country is bleeding billions upon billions of dollars into a senseless war, but people are cold and hungry, often unsheltered. The food banks and churches cannot keep up with the demand, no matter how hard they try. I know that you and I are both rule followers, but there is time to bend the rules. When people do not have what they need to survive and thrive, it is best to look the other way. When we see a man who is down on his luck sneak some food into his pocket, we look the other way. Full stop, period. It is better to give than to receive.

In a little bit, I will go out and shovel snow. The dogs will go out for a romp. Right now, the kitty and the computer are battling for a spot on my lap. It seems that the kitty is winning. You were never a real fan of snow. Your lack of body fat probably had a lot to do with that. If you were here now, we would snuggle on the couch with Sam, listen to your favorite tunes on Spotify, and eat Sour Patch Kids. We could watch Sid the Science Kid and giggle. I miss your goofy laugh. As it is, you are safe and warm in heaven, and I have snow to shovel. So, remember, eat pie on Pi Day, and don’t go to the forum on the Ides of March. You are old enough to drink, so if you want to tip back a Guiness on St Patrick’s Day, Peter and I would approve. Go live your best life in the afterlife. I love you forever. 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.

17 months

Dear Ravi,

It has been 17 months since I held you in my arms and said goodbye. I miss you deeply and so does Daddy. I dreamed of you last night. I was holding you and then you slipped away. I tried to follow you but was unable to do so. I awoke from this dream and realized that it was March 11, 2026. You left us on October 11, 2024. My subconscious often remembers dates before my conscious mind does. The alert either comes in a dream, a migraine, or a crushing day of grief. I read a book once called The Body Keeps the Score. It certainly does. You are so deeply embedded in my body that my heart and soul long for you before my mind has time to catch up. Grief is a wild, untamed beast. I wish that grief and I could come to some sort of amicable agreement, but that does not seem possible right now.

I hope you are romping about heaven, free of cancer, epilepsy, pain, and fear. I hope you are hanging out with Rosie, Joyce, and your great aunt Dorothy. I know that they will all take good care of you. Life on earth is rather grim. For some reason our country attacked Iran. Then, Israel jumped into the fray. The Straight of Hormuz is shut down and lined with mines. Our president, who shall remain nameless, is claiming victory. Iran claims that this war will end when they say it will end. There is a warning of drone attacks off the coast of California. To say the least, things are tense.

Over the last week Daddy and I have been watching a mini-series on the Cold War. The series start with the bombing of Pearl Harbor and run up through Vietnam. Over and over again our country has deposed democratic countries and put tyrants and dictators in place. The United States has not learned from our past, we just continue to repeat it. There are tons of mini revolutions that never made it into American history textbooks, but they are all intertwined and have shaped the present day. Maybe if our current president was a history buff and could read above a third-grade level, things would be different. Alas, they are not. History continues to repeat itself and the drum beat of war is loud.

Judging by the way my head feels, there is a major storm moving in. The wind is picking up and the temperature is dropping. I am begging my crocus and your trees that they hunker down and wait to bloom for at least another 6 weeks. Our dear friend April sent me some peonies and bulbs to plant. I have put them in pots around the house to have something blooming inside before things can bloom outside. Your amaryllis bulb has peeked out and looks like it is thinking of blooming. I have babied this bulb since April sent it to me shortly after you passed. It gives me a great deal of hope in the resurrection. Green things and life will come again. We will journey through Holy Week together. We will struggle through Good Friday and be risen again on Easter Sunday.

I miss you, Ravi. You come to me in my dreams and then drift away again. Your spirit is free and I cannot hold on to you. You have gone to a better place where someday Daddy and I will join you. Please continue to pray for your sister. I fear that she is in a very bad place. Currently, I am under a heated blanket and a pile of pets. Daddy is out for lunch with Daniel. I will get up in a while and walk the dogs before it gets too much colder. Go fly free, my child. Love you to the moon and back, Mom.