Ravi

Ravi’s death, two days ago, has shaken me to my absolute core. The furious whirlwind of emotions – heartbreak, fury, guilt, denial – has had me feeling a confusing combination of tension and exhaustion. Ravi had become the warm, beating heart of our Kopila family and something of a mascot. After all, he had survived so much since coming to Maggie as a 4 pound skeleton on the verge of death a year and a half ago. He had grown into a plump toddler absolutely bursting with life and love of life. And, more than that, his surviving self was a testament to the power of nurturing, motherly love.

I loved him completely. Anyone who spent a minute with him was instantly infatuated. Anyone who ever held him and danced around as the kids went off to school or helped him eat at the dinner table or heard him say “uh oh” before doing something naughty, they were drawn to his undeniable charm and glow.

Disaster has been no foreign thing to me and to Kopila Valley – even just since I’ve been there, the country has seen a terrible earthquake, disastrous flooding, a petrol crisis – but nothing could ever be worse than this. From all the followers on Facebook or Instagram to our family in Nepal and Maggie especially, I do not see how a child could have been loved more genuinely or completely. All of us have lost greatly here. But what I in particular struggle to make sense of is how or why this could happen to Maggie, who has given her life and every ounce of herself to helping those around her. It is cruel, and only cruel, that she should be forced to experience this, to bury her child.

I will never make sense of it. None of us will. All I can do is ask myself, How can I change? How can I live a life that is worthy of Ravi, in a way that in some small way reacts to his death by working harder to make this wide world, and my narrow world, happier and healthier places? I have no answer for this, not now. And until I return to Nepal and grieve properly, I won’t find an answer. I can only attempt to come to terms with this new reality without diminishing the gravity of Ravi’s death or distancing myself from it emotionally. I can never allow myself to forget how much I loved that child and how much he meant to me.

But for now and like everyone else, I just wish I could have had more time with him.

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9 comments on “Ravi

  1. Brooke says:

    Our hearts break along with yours and everyone who loved him. May you all have some peace in your own time.

  2. Anonymous says:

    Dearest Luke…Our sentiments echo Brooke’s post. Sending you much love…we’re so very sorry about Ravi. JoAnn and Cam

  3. Anonymous says:

    thank you for sharing this Luke. love you!

  4. Anonymous says:

    Love. From our hearts to yours, Luke, Linnie and Jim

  5. kathy says:

    A moving tribute to a little boy deeply loved

  6. Camil says:

    Heart deep embrace Ravi lives on in yours.
    Camil

  7. Anonymous says:

    Oh Luke – this has got to be so hard – I feel for you. love Tish

  8. Kay Barned-Smith says:

    Luke-I am reminded of a verse from the book of Isaiah-“When you pass through the waters, I will be with you: and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.” All the passing through we do in this world in some ways does not make sense, but the grief and love you and all your community are feeling at this time attests to a great gift you have been given-the love of and for this little child who will be a part of you forever. The ache of his death, the hole he leaves in all of you attests to the great truth and gift that love is indeed stronger than death and that your lives will be deepened forever by both his life and his death. In the meantime the profound pain of this time is to be passed through and it will be very difficult. There is no ‘moving on’ but a gradual adjustment to the reality of life without his presence. Our hearts, prayers and love go out to you and all your community; we pray daily for comfort, solace and glimmers of light in this darkness, and we weep with you all. Blessings, Kay and St. John

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