A walk down the memory path

It's been over twenty-two years since my step-son died, however from time to time I think of him. Those of you who have read my book will know this next passage, those that haven't? A bit more insight into me and my past.

My stepson, Robbie is buried at Forest Cemetery, one of the oldest cemeteries in the City of Toledo. He died at age five from a grand-mal seizure in his sleep. I went to wake him up the next morning and discovered he was dead. I could write volumes about Robbie, while he was only in my life for a little over two years; he gave me my first experiences with motherhood. When my first four were young I would take them with me to visit Robbie’s grave, I would clean up any grass, etc, clean off his stone and of course talk to him. One day as we got in the car to go to the cemetery I heard my daughter, say to her siblings “she’s going to go talk to the Robbie stone again”. That’s obviously when my children first started thinking their mother was not normal. We went back into the house and I showed them photographs of Robbie, and had our first in depth discussion about souls, etc. I assumed since they knew about death in general terms they understood the rest. After than when we would go to the cemeteries they would not only help me but took it upon themselves to clean up some of the graves of people that obviously had not been visited in some time.

I’ll never forget the one time the four of them, ages 9, 7, 5 and 3 decided that a large stone ball that had been broken off of one of the monuments had to be put back on. Of course they couldn’t lift it, I couldn’t even lift it, at first they were upset but I told them that the person who the monument was for could see what they had tried to do and that was good enough. In one of those poetic moments, the clouds then parted and rays of sun shone down on the cemetery.