This is the story of my brother. I never knew him. He was born 13 years before me, and he died at the age of 5 mo. 1 day old. He was my parents' firstborn and one and only son.
My Mom & Dad were married in 1937 in Strong City, OK. My Mom was 18 years old and 8 months old when she married. She had walked off my grandfather's farm the day she turned 18 and never looked back. Her mother had died when Mom was 14. My Dad's mother had died when he was 9 years old and he had spent most of his childhood from that point on growing up in the Masonic orphanage in Witchita KS. When he met my Mom, he was barely 23 years old.
My Mom was beautiful and my Dad was tall, dark and handsome. They made quite a stunning looking couple. I'm sure neither one of them had any idea of what a marriage was all about. They certainly hadn't had role models. I digress, however.
Fifteen months after they were married, my brother was born in Oklahoma and then they moved to Albuquerque NM where my father was trying to make a living as a truck driver. From what I am told, they didn't have much and Daddy was gone quite a bit driving the trucks.
My brother became ill right before he turned 5 months old while my Dad was out of town. He appeared to just have a cold. My Mom attempted to care for him but he got worse instead of better. Mom took him to a doctor and he was hospitalized but subsequently died of double pneumonia. Daddy got home and they buried him in a cemetery in Albuquerque and somehow tried to go on with their lives.
I'm told by old friends that they never really got over his death and it caused a rancor between them that never went away - just simmered under the surface. My Dad apparently blamed my Mom for not seeking medical help for the baby sooner. My Mom blamed my Dad because they didn't have enough money for her to feel it was okay to take him to a hospital sooner and that she was left alone and had to handle it by herself. The tragedy of the whole event is that within months of his death, I'm told that they developed penicillin which may have saved his life if it had been available.
Life went on and nearly five years later my sister was born in Albuquerque. By the time I came along, eight years after that, my parents had moved to Tucson and my Dad had become a Greyhound bus driver. I believe I was a last ditch effort to hold their marriage together. I think my Mom, in particular, was hoping she'd have another boy. Well, obviously I wasn't and I didn't. They were divorced when I was two years old.
My brother was never spoken of. I don't remember ever hearing my Dad speak of him and my Mom would give one word answers if you asked about him. It was obvious that the pain never left her. After she died, I found among her personal things, a couple of 1" x 1" photos of my brother taken when he was about 4 months old. She also had saved a white crocheted outfit that he had been wearing when his picture was taken.
I found his baby book in her cedar chest also, along with a small book given to them by the mortuary when he died. It contained the name of the cemetery and the lot number. I took his picture and had it professionally retouched and made into a 5" x 7" photo that I could hang on the wall. I looked at him often and thought of what it might have been like to have had this older brother.
In late 2000 I took a trip to Albuquerque with my sister Sherry and we went to the cemetery to find our brother. I envisioned leaving flowers on his grave and taking some pictures of his headstone. When we got there, we had to have assistance from the cemetery people to locate him; it turned out that he had been buried in the non-perpetual care area and so he lay in a dirt lot covered in weeds that adjoined this beautiful cemetery. I thought my heart would break when I found him. The only marker he had was a concrete block that stood upright, buried an inch or so into the earth, with a tin plate hammered into the top and his name etched into that very primitively. I was so sad to think that this was the best my parents could do at the time, but I know it was.
I went back into the cemetery office to see about making arrangements to move my brother's remains to their perpetual care baby area of the cemetery. They were extremely kind and told me that if I paid a minimal fee for his disinterment, they would donate the gravesite and the burial fee for re-inter him. Then I would only need to get him a headstone. I'm not sure why I didn't just do that, but at the time I told them that I would give it all some thought, discuss it with my sister, and get back to them about it the next day.
Sherry and I went back to our hotel and went downstairs for dinner and to talk about the day. We talked about how nice it was of the cemetery people to make such a generous offer and what a beautiful area they had that he could be re-buried in. But something was nagging at the back of my mind and I still wanted to think on it.
I realized the next morning that there was just some voice in my head that was telling me to 'take him home'. I couldn't get the voice out of my thoughts.
When we got up the next morning, I told Sherry that I had made the decision and the decision was to make arrangements to take our brother home. I wasn't sure how to accomplish it, but we went back to the cemetery office and I told them what we wanted. They explained that in order to have his remains moved from NM to AZ, I would need to contact a mortuary to handle that and the paperwork involved. They gave me the name of a nearby mortuary and we went there next. Of all things, it turns out that it was the same mortuary that had handled his original burial in 1939. Here we were, 61 years later. I couldn't believe it.
Since it was going to involve weeks of paperwork and permits, I was told to just contact them when I was ready and then within a month or so, I could return to Albuquerque for his remains. In order to get the permit from NM however, I had to already have a paid for lot in Tucson ready to receive his remains.
Back in Tucson, I went to the cemetery where my grandson Cole James is buried. He had been buried in July 2000 in their Babyland section, so I wanted my brother in the same area. I knew from going through Cole's funeral and burial that you are not able to pick a plot of your choice; rather, they have a system and you take the next one available.
This is also the same cemetery where my Dad is buried, along with several other family members from my Dad's side of the family. When I went to the office to find a person to help me, I was surprised to be recognized; but then I guess if you have buried several loved ones in recent years in their cemetery, maybe you become memorable?
The consultant took me out to Babyland so that he could show me the next plot available. As we walked past my grandson's grave, this gentleman slowed his stride and then turned and asked me if I would like to bury my brother next to my beloved grandson. He offered me the plot next to Cole, although it wasn't 'next' on the list', saying that sometimes you just have to bend the rules in special cases. I almost cried right there. It was exactly what I wanted and it was going to happen. It was as if all along the way of my journey, there was a special angel making everything happen as it should be.
I sent the money and the paperwork to NM and in June 2001 I went back for my brother and brought him home. He is now laid to rest forever next to my beloved grandson. I have a great sense of comfort knowing that with this large family of mine, there will always be someone down there putting flowers on my 'boys' graves.
Oh and one more thing - when I had the headstone made for my brother, I had that special picture of him that my Mom had kept for nearly 60 years put on his headstone so that forever his smiling little face will look up at all who stop to visit him now.
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