Upon learning that my four-year-old son,
Richard, has cystic fibrosis,
I was in shock, then I mourned.
Finally I became furious and fought back.
Frantically every night I would call everywhere
Looking for help; there was none.
One night after several long and agonizing
Phone calls pleading for help,
Richard came into the room.
He said, “Mommy I know who you work for.”
With some trepidation,
I posed the question back to him,
“Who, Richard?”
“Sixty-five roses,” he said with a smile.
I went to him and tenderly pressed his tiny body
To mine so he could not see
The tears running down my cheeks.
I was amazed since I had never told him
That he has advanced liver cancer.
Then as I hugged him, I realized
He couldn’t pronounce cystic fibrosis,
So now every time, for the past thirty-eight years,
As I visit Richard, I smile and cry as I gaze upon
A seven-year-old’s gravestone
That reads “sixty-five roses.”
Richard, it has been thirty-eight poignant years to the day
“Sixty-five roses” on your grave we placed today
Then on our knees we got and silently prayed.
Not for you, our sweetie,
For we know you’re safe in heaven,
But for daddy and I, whose hearts have never mended.
We want to thank you Richard and need to apologize,
We
