Page Ramos, 1943-2022

A few years back, Tonya Ramos and her late husband, Rich Irvin, reached out to me through social media to say ‘hello’ after I wrote my first spiritual encounter in Six-Mile Canyon. The couple wanted to visit Virginia City and that place.

Near the beginning of 2022, Rich passed away, leaving Tonya a widow. Then on May 17, Tonya’s mom, Page Ramos, entered the afterlife, only a few days before her 79th birthday.

Both people’s deaths left me sad, but because I’ve known Page all of my life, her’s hit me the hardest. There was even a time when I thought the Ramos and Olivera families (my mother’s maiden name) were cousins.

My mom used to refer to Tonya’s father, Tony Ramos (yes, she is named after him, and you’d best learn to say her name with a ‘tony’ in it) as family, as did my grandfather Joaquin Luis Olivera (whose name I bear as my second, third and fourth.) Page politely disabused me of the notion.

Last night I learned that Page had passed, and because of this, I fell asleep with a deep sadness in my soul. The feelings precipitated a dream where I was sitting in the back of a long hall, a cathedral if you will, where God was speaking, and being interrupted by two women giggling and laughing. It was Page and her mother, Theral Hammond (Tonya’s grandmother, a woman known for her jazz and honky-tonk style of piano playing.)

Then, I heard God ask, “Am I going to have to separate you two, again?”

I woke myself up, laughing.

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